


Espionage

by Janieshi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Awkward teenage Roy is awkward, Gen, Slow burn friendship, Young Royai, is that even a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 102,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: "Lieutenant Hawkeye sat in stunned silence, with letters spilled all across her lap, eagerly devouring the words of a boy she'd once known." Pre-series character study of the relationship between Roy and Riza as young teens. Spoilers for manga and anime.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net from 2 April 2013 through 21 June 2014.

 

* * *

“The ‘boy?’ Ah, do you mean your young nephew?”

As he spoke, the man raised a questioning eyebrow at his female companion. She nodded briskly and pushed a lock of her thick, wavy hair behind one ear. 

Madame Christmas, as she chose to be called professionally, was currently perched on a bar stool in her newly opened establishment, her long legs crossed demurely at the ankle and her fingers tangled in a long silvery necklace.

Although no one would’ve described the woman as pretty, there _was_ something about her—a quality she possessed that made people stop and take a second look. She was certainly _striking_ : tall, with broad shoulders and generously lush curves, that glossy black hair tumbling all down her back, and shrewd dark eyes that seemed always to see more than what was on the surface.

At first glance, Chris Mustang looked no older than the girls she employed.  Her crow’s feet and frown lines were expertly concealed under a heavy layer of makeup, which gave her the appearance of a flawless complexion. The man sitting beside her only knew how old she _really_ was because he’d once looked up her birth certificate while checking into her background, and even he had been surprised. As he knew all too well, it was not wise to underestimate this woman.

Keeping that in mind, he tapped his fingers pensively against the glass she’d set in front of him only a moment before. He had a feeling he knew where she was headed with the “casual” mention of her nephew’s interest in the sciences.

“Let me guess, the young man has his heart set on learning alchemy?” he said, picking up the glass at last. Chris pursed her plump crimson lips and shot him an unreadable sidelong glance. He took a sip of his drink to hide his smile. She hadn’t expected him to see through her quite so quickly.  

Brigadier General Grumman had discovered his affinity for the political aspects of his job early on in his military career. Learning to recognize pretense, discovering the hidden truths mixed in with the lies, dancing around a topic so that both parties understood what was being offered without actually committing themselves to anything officially—he honestly _enjoyed_ the little games that were played on a daily basis. He was very good at what he did, so sometimes he couldn’t really help but use those observational skills even in the most mundane situations. Plus, it was fun to throw someone as skilled as Chris off-balance every now and again.

“You’ve got it,” she admitted. “Roy’s fallen in love with the subject. He’s been trying to teach himself as he goes along, but he’s had to squeeze alchemy in between his regular classes at the secondary school, so he hasn’t gotten very far.” Chris gestured to the necklace she’d been toying with a moment earlier. “Little brat made this thing for me out of some scrap metal the other day,” she snorted derisively. “I told him it was shoddy craftsmanship, but he didn’t seem all that put out.”

 I’ll just bet she did too, thought Grumman, hiding another smirk.

“And he wouldn’t shut up until I at least tried it on,” Chris was saying. “If it turns my skin green, I’ll have his hide.”

But Grumman noticed that her eyes had gone soft. And then there was the fact that she was still _wearing_ the necklace. Underneath that cold and calculating exterior, they both knew she loved the kid fiercely and would do anything for him.

“So,” she continued crisply, interrupting this train of thought. “As you’re in the military, I’m sure you are acquainted with plenty of state certified alchemists. Do you know of any that would be willing to take on the brat for a pupil?” No sense in beating around the bush now that he’d called her out, after all. Grumman hesitated a moment, and Chris shifted slightly on her stool. With studied indifference, she added: “And the cost isn’t an object. His parents left money enough to cover his schooling.” 

This time Grumman didn’t bother to hide his smirk. Whether that statement was true or not, he was absolutely certain that Chris and her girls would willingly pool their own carefully hoarded resources to send the boy to a private tutor if need be. The boy was well and truly spoiled by those hard-eyed beauties. He’d seen how their faces lit up when the kid came around—they all adored him. Even the boy had to have noticed this weak spot by now. He referred to them as his older sisters, for pity’s sake. 

Clearly the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, Grumman thought. If things continued as they were now, young Roy might grow up to become as manipulative as his foster mother. And if he _did_ , he’d make an excellent heir to his aunt’s little information-gathering spy ring. She’d collected a tight knit and loyal group of girls with just the right combination of brains and sex appeal, and she was always on the lookout for new talent. Her girls loved and respected her, and she looked out for their best interests, though she ruled them with an iron fist. It would be just like her to be grooming a teenage boy to take over for her someday, he mused.

“Well…” Grumman cleared his throat, stalling for time. An idea had occurred to him the moment the word ‘alchemy’ had been mentioned, and he had still not decided within himself whether it was a good one. “I do know of someone,” he said at last, hesitantly. “But…this person isn’t a state certified alchemist. He’s actually a bit of a recluse; lives in a little farming town up north. But according to my sources, he’s extremely talented.” Chris only tilted her head, listening carefully. “In fact, the military has been trying to recruit him for years. He keeps refusing them no matter how much money they offer. He’s apparently a specialist in elemental alchemy. According to the rumors, his particular area of expertise is fire.” 

“I can see why the military would be interested in him, then,” Chris said thoughtfully, displaying an immediate grasp of the implications of such a specialty. She always had been a sharp one, Grumman thought as he chuckled.

“Yes, he would be quite the asset, if only they could convince him that their intentions are pure.” Which, of course, they weren’t. “Anyway, I’m certain that if you were to write to him about your boy,” Grumman continued, “this particular alchemist would accept him as a pupil, at least on a trial basis.”

“Trial basis?” she echoed.

“Well, if all the rumors are true, he’s an exacting man, only willing to exert himself to teach those who show significant talent, if not outright genius.”

“If he’s such an exacting man, I’m surprised that he’d accept pupils at all,” she said, a slight frown appearing on her carefully made-up face.

“Yes; even _those_ students he only accepts because of his precarious financial state. He’s sunk into a sort of genteel poverty since his wife’s death a few years back. He needs the income from boarding pupils to get by.”

“Did the wife come from money, then?”

“No, not at all. It was a love match, pure and simple, or so I understand. There was supposed to be a bit of family money on his end once, but when she fell ill, what little they had went towards her medical care. You know, special doctors and new-fangled medicines and the like. Bled him dry, and the effort was futile in the end anyway.”

Chris was listening intently, and she had known Grumman for quite some time, so she caught the slight catch in his voice others would’ve missed. As she focused those sharp dark eyes on his face, he took a too-casual sip of his drink, giving himself away even further by refusing to meet her eyes. Why did this man’s story bother Grumman so?

“Since he lives in a small town and won’t work for the military, he accepts students he’d rather not waste his time on, for the money they bring in,” she said. Although it was a statement rather than a question, Grumman nodded in response, aware that she was still watching his face closely. He’d have to be careful not to slip up again.

“Precisely. He’s willing to take students occasionally, as they pay for their lessons, room, and board. And then he takes on the odd village job here and there, as alchemists usually do, but…his neighbors are simple folk, and many of them still pay in things like barrels of cider and bushels of wool. He seems to live on that pittance and not much else, though. Such a waste of talent,” Grumman sighed. “Anyway. It won’t be easy on your boy. If the kid doesn’t show promise, he’ll probably be thrown out after a few weeks. But he should at least be able to learn how to transmute you something prettier than that tin-can travesty,” he chuckled, hooking Chris’s necklace out of the valley of her ample cleavage with one long finger and giving it a playful little tug.

“Hmm. Well, perhaps we’ll try it out and see how the boy handles himself,” she said, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in her dress. “Now then. Don’t play coy with me, old man. How much will I owe you for being my information broker?” Grumman just laughed.

“Suppose you do something for me in return for the contact information, my dear?” 

Here it comes, Chris thought, already mentally skimming through her stable. Even before she’d officially had her own place, Grumman had “borrowed” her girls before. Usually it was to play the air-headed companion to some wealthy politico who needed to be distracted by something pretty and fluffy while the real work was taken care of behind the scenes, safely away from inept interference. Her girls were adept at the acting, and were always happy to be wined and dined at expensive restaurants for such a cause.

“What’s the mission, then?” was all she said.

“It’s about this alchemist that the boy will be studying with. I want the kid to report to me once he gets there—to tell me anything he can about the man. What his home is like, how he acts, what kind of teacher he is, that sort of thing.” It was Chris’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

“The boy is still very young, Grumman. I don’t know if he’s quite ready for espionage.” Though she was trying very hard not to show it, Chris had gone extremely tense.

“I’m not really asking him to spy, per se,” Grumman said quickly. “This man isn’t dangerous. I’m not looking for deep political secrets or scandalous behavior, or anything half so sinister. It’s not a case of sending a man behind enemy lines. I merely have a— _personal_ interest in him. Because of his reclusive habits, I haven’t been able to learn anything on my own. I expect the information gathered by the boy will be of the most mundane kind. And I can assure you that your nephew won’t be in any danger living under this man’s roof.” Chris shot him a sharp look, letting Grumman know that _she_ knew that he was hiding something from her.

“He’d better not be, old man,” she said gruffly. “I once made a foolish promise to my big brother that I would look after his boy if he passed before I did. I won’t have him haunting me from beyond the grave for letting something happen to his precious son on my watch,” she huffed, trying and failing to conceal the ferocity of her mother-bear instincts.

Grumman waited sedately, his hands folded, while Chris deliberated. He knew full well that she’d only give him an answer once she’d finished her internal debate, and not a second before. Chris slid off the stool, made her way behind the bar, and refilled Grumman’s nearly empty glass. Then she floated gracefully across the room, to check on the other patrons frequenting her establishment at this early hour. He had always admired the way she moved—in spite of her height and those plush curves, Chris glided along the floor like a dancer, elegant and poised. Regal. 

He sighed and reached for his drink. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned this alchemist idea after all…it was a huge gamble to involve anyone else in his personal concerns, even someone as discreet as Chris, whom he trusted _almost_ wholeheartedly. But what other option did he have?

It was several minutes later, just when Grumman was starting to feel anxious, that Chris slipped back into the stool at his side and leaned forward to rest her elbows against the bar. Then she shot him the wolfish grin he knew so well, dark eyes sparkling with interest.

“How about this—we’ll have the kid keep a journal,” she said in her sultry voice. “I’ll convince him that he ought to write everything down: his impressions, what he’s learning, what the town is like, all that. Tell him it’s for my girls, most of whom never made it past primary school themselves. We’ll have him send the journal entries home once a month, or once a week, or whatever suits you. It’s a win-win:  the letters will keep the girls from missing the brat too much while he’s away, and he’ll be able gather intel without compromising himself, since he won’t know that there’s anything TO compromise in the first place. Of course, you’ll have to allow the girls to read everything through pretty thoroughly first. Will that do?”

God, she was brilliant.

“Chris, my dear, if I were a younger man I’d marry you,” Grumman announced.

“And if you were a richer one, I’d let you,” she smirked in reply.

“His address,” Grumman said, sliding a slip of paper across the bar.  “Good luck, Madame Christmas.  I’ll be in touch.” 

She waited until he had his hand on the door before she unfolded the paper.

“Berthold Hawkeye, hm?” Chris whispered as the door thudded closed behind Brigadier General Grumman.  “What exactly are you hiding from me, old man?”


	2. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy arrives on scene, makes a bit of an ass of himself, and must work hard to earn the trust and friendship of a certain young lady.

**April 10**

It was such a small town that if the train hadn’t stopped, he might have blinked and missed it as they passed by.

 _But maybe that’s a good thing,_ Roy Mustang thought, _since I’m not exactly sure where I’m supposed to go. If there aren’t very many people living ‘round here, then surely they all know each other…maybe one of them can give me directions?_

Fumbling with his small suitcase, the teenager asked an elderly woman waiting on the platform if she happened to know where Berthold Hawkeye lived. She did, and kindly gave him detailed instructions for how to find the house, even referring to a particular flock of sheep as a landmark. Roy swallowed his laughter and made a mental note to mention it in his first letter to his “sisters.”

 _I guess I’m really not in the city anymore, huh?_ Roy thought, as the woman said goodbye and wished him luck, giving him a pitying kind of look like she assumed he wouldn’t survive the week. _So all the rumors about Master Hawkeye being a demanding teacher must be true…But I'm going to try my very best, and learn everything that I can from him for as long as he'll have me!_ Roy vowed, with fire in his eyes.

* * *

 

It was rather late in the afternoon, so the sun had nearly set by the time he’d walked to the house on the outskirts of the town. The place was enormous, and Roy could see that it must have been grand once. Now, however, it seemed faded and shabby—all peeling paint and missing roof shingles, with dark empty windows frowning down at him. He later learned that the windows were kept covered by heavy velvet curtains, to ensure the inmates of the house privacy.

The front yard looked as though it hadn’t been tended to in years. The plants were all growing wild and unchecked, which lent them a certain kind of melancholy beauty in the dusky twilight. Awed in spite of himself, Roy picked his way through the weeds and wild grasses that had once been a lush lawn and knocked resolutely on the door.

From what his aunt had told him, Roy assumed that the reclusive Berthold Hawkeye wasn’t the type to keep a hired servant. He was surprised, then, when a young girl close to his own age opened the door. For a split second, he wondered whether he’d mistaken the directions after all and ended up at the wrong house. But then the girl welcomed him in a soft voice, and introduced herself as Miss Hawkeye. Roy decided she must be related to his teacher in some way. Remembering his aunt’s caution to all of her girls about keeping their mouths shut and their eyes open, Roy simply smiled at her and asked for Master Hawkeye.

Roy was instructed politely to wait in the hall, so he was able to get a good look around the room without being obvious about it. He noticed immediately that while the outside of the house was ill-kempt, someone took very good care of the interior. The hardwood floors were polished to a soft shine, and although the Xingese rugs were somewhat worn, they had obviously been very expensive when new. Turning slowly on the spot, Roy committed all of his impressions to memory.

Later that evening, he settled down at the small desk in his room to begin his first letter.

 

 

_“Dear Auntie Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_Auntie said I should be as detailed as possible so that you girls can get an accurate idea of what it’s like here, so I’ll start at the very beginning._

_I arrived late in the afternoon. It’s a small town, or at least, the downtown section where the train station and shops and things are is really small. But since it is all farmland out here, the population is pretty well spread out. Almost all the houses are surrounded by fields and trees and things, and very few people even live in the town proper (except the doctor and the postmistress)._

_In fact, I hardly saw anyone the whole walk to Master Hawkeye’s house, which is a good four or five miles from the center of town. He lives in an enormous house at the northern edge of town, right up against the woods. You can tell it was a really beautiful house once, even if it is falling apart some now. I don't think anyone has mowed the yard in years, though; it's all growing wild. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have walked past it and assumed it was an old, abandoned farm._

_When I knocked, a girl about my age opened the door and introduced herself as Miss Hawkeye. I don’t know what her relationship to sensei is, but I suppose she must be some kind of dependent relative of his. Since it might not be very polite to ask her, I just introduced myself and asked for Master Hawkeye. She left me alone in the hall while she went to find him, so I got to check out the room without worrying about being rude._

_Although it looks pretty shabby outside, the inside of the house is still really nice. You girls would love this place—it’s got hardwood flooring, with plush carpets in the bedrooms, and big floor-to-ceiling windows. All of the furniture seems to be either leather or ornately carved wood. And everything is really neat and clean and well taken care of, unlike the outside and the yard. So I wonder whether the rumors of his “delicate financial situation” are exaggerated…he certainly seems to be able to afford a decent housekeeper, even if there is no gardener. Maybe he likes people to believe he’s less well-off than he is?_

_When Master Hawkeye finally came downstairs, he stopped a few feet away and looked me over. Ada would’ve screamed at the sight of him. He's a bit intimidating, I guess:  really tall and thin, with longish pale blonde hair, a hooked nose, hollow cheeks, and deep-set dark blue eyes. He kind of reminded me of a scarecrow, except for those eyes—they’re really intense and unexpected. Like…like two live coals glowing in the middle of a pile of ashes. As nerve-wracking as it was to have him towering over me like that, though, Hawkeye-sensei spoke very politely to me._

_After I’d greeted him and thanked him for accepting me as a trial pupil, he showed me all around the house. Besides the one that will be mine while I stay here, there are two other guest bedrooms upstairs, as well as the master suite (where sensei sleeps), Miss Hawkeye’s room, and two bathrooms. Sensei has a private bathroom in his master suite, and Miss Hawkeye’s things are in the one across the hall from her room, so it looks like I’ll have the one next to my bedroom all to myself._

_As for downstairs, there is a formal dining room next to an enormous kitchen, a library that he uses as a study, a living room and a sort of parlor that looks like it was once his wife’s sitting room—with chintz armchairs and a sewing basket and some lacy white curtains. Sensei informed me that Miss Hawkeye usually prepares all the meals, but that I can help myself to whatever is in the kitchen at any time, since he doesn’t really follow a regular schedule for his own meals._

_As he was explaining this, the girl came into the room behind us. But she just stood there quietly, without calling any attention to herself, until he noticed her and asked her what she needed. He called her “Riza,” which I assume is her full first name (can you think of what it might be short for? I couldn't). Anyway, Miss Riza Hawkeye told sensei that his dinner was ready, and that she’d left it in his room. I got the impression that sensei usually eats alone in his own room, so when she turned to me, and asked whether I’d prefer to eat my meals in the kitchen or in my room, I said I’d just eat in the kitchen. I figured at least I’d have Miss Hawkeye for company. Anyway, she disappeared after that, and Master Hawkeye told me to go get my things settled in._

_Sensei said I could do as I liked until we met tomorrow morning for our first lesson, and that so long as I didn’t disturb him or Miss Riza, I’m free to go anywhere on his grounds and into any other room in the house besides the basement (which is his private lab that he keeps locked).  He emphasized the part about not bothering Miss Riza, which I thought was a little odd. I suppose the last student annoyed her somehow._

_When he took himself off to his room (to his dinner, I suppose), I stopped off in my room to put my things away, and then headed down to the kitchen. Food had been left out for me, and the table was set for only one place, so I guess I’ll be eating alone after all.  Miss Hawkeye sure is a good cook, even if she’s not very friendly. Her curry is almost as good as Juliet’s!”_

* * *

**April 11**

His first full day in the Hawkeye household had been rather a long one, and Roy was sleepy by the time he trudged back upstairs to his own room. He thought about waiting until morning to write in his journal, but he knew that now he’d thought of it, he had to write something down or he’d never be able to sleep. He’d end up thinking over everything that had happened and composing half the darn thing in his head anyway. Might as well commit it to paper while his impressions were fresh. With a sigh, he settled at the desk in his room and began his second entry.

 

_“So by ‘in the morning,’ it turns out that sensei just meant 'before noon.' I ended up sitting in his study for hours before he finally came in. But I got to read some really interesting stuff while I was waiting, so I figure that counts for study time. Sophie would love to get into sensei’s study—it's really more of a library than anything else. There’s a desk and a couple of armchairs, but bookshelves take up most of the wall space, completely covering three of the walls from top to bottom. The fourth wall is all windows, which are hung with heavy, old- fashioned velvet curtains. Sensei has a ton of really great books, and not just about alchemy. He’s got history, chemistry, biology, mathematics, and even some good biographies and fiction stories too. Some of them look like first editions, and I bet a lot of them are really rare._

_The big mahogany desk at one end of the room is so shiny I can see my reflection in it, so I can tell it was polished recently. But the room doesn’t have that harsh, freshly scrubbed smell. You know what I mean—like when you walk into someone’s house and it smells like cleaning supplies, and you can tell they’ve just frantically cleaned the place to impress you, and that it was probably filthy until about five minutes before you arrived._

_But this place has a well-kept, lived-in feel…it smells like lemon furniture polish and the leather bindings of books. I think this library is my favorite room so far. The armchairs are really comfortable and squashy, and made for a really good place to read while I waited. And Hawkeye-sensei seemed pleased to find me reading when he walked in at last._

_Sensei went over his plan for how our lessons together will be, and told me he expects me to study hard when I have time in between lessons. He said something about needing to gauge where we stood, and that he expected great things out of me. Then, suddenly, he grabbed a heavy vase from one of the side tables and threw it against the wall. I was totally stunned until he handed me a piece of chalk, and I realized he was testing me. So I drew the circle right there on the floor of the library, and transmuted the vase back together. When I'd finished fixing it, he picked it up and looked at it really close. He didn't say ‘good job,’ or anything, but he didn't yell at me either, so I guess it was all right._

_Anyway, he says we're going to start lessons with the very basics. Hawkeye-sensei wants to make sure I fully understand all of the elementary concepts before we try anything bigger. It’s a little irritating, but it makes sense, because you can really mess stuff up if you don't know what you're doing. Plus I figured if I don't complain and do as he asks, he'll be more likely to let me stay longer and then I can learn more. So we worked together for several hours, and then sensei sent me off and again told me I could do as I liked until the same time tomorrow. Guess I can sleep in now that I know he's a late riser, huh?”_

 

With a satisfied yawn, Roy closed the notebook he’d been writing his letters in and pressed a hand to his burning eyes. Speaking of sleeping in…it was definitely time to get to bed. He flicked out his lamp and climbed into the four-poster bed, and would have been asleep at once—except that he heard a noise from the hallway.

Footsteps? 

Almost afraid to breathe, Roy sat up and listened intently. And heard _nothing_.

Darn this creaky old country house! The darkness outside of his window was so complete, it felt oppressive. There were no street lights casting familiar shadows in through his window, and the moon wasn’t up yet. There was no traffic noise, no sounds of mingled laughter and conversation spilling out of bars or restaurants nearby, nothing. Just silence. Straining to hear something, _anything_ , in the heavy darkness, icy shards of fear lodged in his belly. And Roy trembled.  

But he didn’t hear the odd sound again.

Instead, his ears began picking out small, soothing, homelike noises: the ticking of the grandfather clock he’d seen downstairs, the soughing of the wind in the trees outside, the soft call of some sort of night bird. Ordinary, normal sounds.

The very stillness of the house gradually lulled him. It _was_ an old house, after all. His overactive imagination was playing tricks on him; supplying mysterious footsteps to fit a mysterious, lonely locale. Who would be creeping around his door in the middle of the night, anyway? If his teacher wanted to talk to him, he’d knock or wait until morning; he certainly wouldn’t skulk around in the dark in his own home.

Finally, Roy convinced himself that he was being foolish. _It’s just because you’re in an unfamiliar place, that’s all. It’s a bit quiet, sure, but that doesn’t make it sinister. Quit being such a baby. What would the girls say if they saw you acting like this?_

He scoffed at himself, but was strangely comforted at the idea of his “sisters” teasing him for being childish. He rolled back over on the comfortable goose feather bed, imagining condescending pats on the head and gentle feminine laughter, and was deeply asleep in seconds.

He heard neither the creaking floorboard, nor the footsteps that crept slowly away again.    

* * *

 

**April 13**

_“These past few days have been so busy and exciting; I’ve hardly had time for my journal. I’m learning so much already—especially how much there is that I have yet to learn._

_I **am** glad that I started studying alchemy back home, because otherwise I wouldn’t have made it through the first three days here. Thankfully I already had sufficient understanding of the concept of equivalent exchange. Hawkeye-sensei didn’t say he’s satisfied by that, but he finally **smiled** (which makes him look a lot less like a scarecrow and more like a normal person). And then he said my grasp of the foundational concepts is refreshing, because so many of his former students came to him expecting to be taught how to transmute objects out of thin air. (‘Convinced they’d soon be conjuring carbuncles from currants’ was his actual phrase)._

_Afterward, he quizzed me extensively on my knowledge of chemistry and biology. He showed me where the higher-level books on those subjects are kept in his library, and suggested that I spend time studying the more advanced stuff in these subjects, because it would help me later down the line. No arguments here. It would be better to know the exact chemical composition of something before you tried to transmute it, rather than having to stop in the middle of the process to go and look it up. Especially if there is something important that needs to be transmuted right away._

_I haven't seen Miss Hawkeye since the first night I got here, and her bedroom door is always closed when I pass. But I know she's around here somewhere, because there is always food left out for me and teacher at mealtimes. I’m still really curious about Miss Hawkeye’s relationship to sensei, but I think it’d be too impertinent for me to ask.”_

* * *

 

**April 15**

_“I finally ran into Miss Hawkeye again this morning. I also found out that she’s the one who does all of the housework as well as the cooking. When I walked into the study, there she was dusting the books. She seemed surprised when I greeted her, but she responded with some vague polite words and went back to dusting. For whatever reason, she seemed to be uncomfortable being in the same room as me._

_Perhaps she’s just shy? Or maybe Hawkeye sensei’s students normally ignore her, so she doesn’t know how to react to me? Sensei did tell me to leave her alone, but I don’t think he meant I shouldn’t talk to her at all. And since she’s the only other person in the house aside from Hawkeye-sensei, I’d been thinking that I’d try and make friends with Miss Hawkeye._

_I wonder now whether she’ll **let** me._

_Either way, I don’t think I’m off to a very good start. I was trying to make small talk, to sort of draw her out a little. She looked confused when I asked her who normally helped her out with the housework, and then blushed and told me that she did all the work herself._

_Then I was afraid I’d offended her—me and my big mouth. I didn’t mean to imply anything with my question, but she might’ve thought that I was mocking her for doing the work of a servant or something. I panicked a little, and said that since she kept everything so clean around here, I’d just assumed there were several professionals around to do all the work. Stupid, I know. But it earned me a little half-smile, which I hoped was an encouraging sign. While I was racking my brain for something else to say, Hawkeye-sensei walked in. Miss Hawkeye said she’d let us get to our studies, and then she was gone before I could blink.”_

* * *

 

**April 16**

_“I think we’ve established a pretty solid routine now. Since Hawkeye-sensei hasn’t said anything about tossing me out on my ear yet, I’m hopeful that this means he’s decided I‘m worth teaching—for the time being at least. I still wake up much earlier than sensei, who I assume works late into the night on his own research. I make myself breakfast, since that seems to be the only meal Miss Hawkeye doesn’t bother with preparing, and then I go study in the library until it’s time for my lesson. Even though I learned a lot from Juliet, my cooking isn’t nearly as good as Miss Hawkeye’s, so I’m really glad she’s around to make the other meals._

_Now that we’ve gone over the essentials together, Hawkeye-sensei has decided to change up how we’ve been doing lessons. From here on out, he’ll set me a task and give me a certain amount of time to figure out how to do it. We'll meet only twice a week now, so I’ll have the rest of the time to study on my own and solve my task. I guess this means Hawkeye-sensei’s confident that I’m not going to accidentally bring the place down around our heads while doing some amateur alchemic experiment. And at the moment he’s just giving me complex equations to solve, nothing practical yet, so there isn’t much chance of me blowing the place up anyway._

_Since we won’t be meeting every day, I’ll have a lot more free time on my hands. Normally I’d be thrilled about that, but it’s not as though I have any friends in town, and there isn’t really much to do around here. I don't know how Miss Hawkeye manages her boredom. I suppose she must go to school during the day, so maybe she has friends from there that she spends time with. They certainly never come here to see her, though. Or if they do, they are as silent and invisible as she seems to be._

_I'm really going to try harder to get to know her—it’d be nice to have someone else to talk to in this place. It’ll be something of a challenge though, since she seems to be either really shy, or just really good at avoiding me. She’s definitely not the outgoing type, anyway._

_With the retired life she and sensei live out here, it’s no wonder there are so many rumors about Hawkeye-sensei…and I wonder whether Miss Hawkeye has a hard time making friends because of them. I can almost picture a group of her schoolmates sitting around the table in total silence, all of them terrified to make a noise lest they disturb the local alchemist.”_

 

Because the townspeople did seem to hold their resident alchemist in particularly high regard, Roy noticed. He’d paid close attention to the whispers and stares directed at him when he dropped off his first packet of letters at the little post office, and he’d gotten the distinct impression that Master Hawkeye was a bit of a celebrity in these parts. His reclusive habits were likely disregarded as the eccentricity that came hand in hand with genius, and his neighbors certainly seemed to admire him for his talent. But admiration wasn’t the same as real affection and friendship.

As he trotted along the lonely country lane that led back to the Hawkeye estate, Roy tried to ignore the growing pangs of homesickness. It’d probably be a few days before he’d get anything back from the girls…not that he missed them or anything. Course not.

Gregarious by nature, Roy’s spirits were beginning to feel the strain of the seclusion his teacher preferred. It had been a whole week, but the only people he’d talked to so far were the two inmates of the Hawkeye residence. Though the people in town had _seemed_ friendly enough, they’d also been very distant towards him. Reminding him, as though he didn’t already know it, that he was an outsider and a visitor here, and not someone they’d open up to after a mere week’s acquaintance.

And five miles was a long way to walk for the sake of just-this-side-of-civil conversation. Especially when there was someone close to his own age right here in this very house he could talk to. In theory, at least.

His natural curiosity about people in general was fueled by the fact that Miss Hawkeye was so elusive. Roy couldn’t figure out how she moved so quickly and quietly through the house, or why he so rarely saw her. Surely she didn’t spend all of her time locked in her own room, so where did she go? What did she do, besides cook and clean? Surely she had other interests? Hobbies?

He’d barely seen her since their brief encounter in the library, but he’d unconsciously started to look for her as he went about his day, wondering whether she was at school in town while he sat toiling with his teacher in the library, or imagining what she might be reading or studying while he was writing to his sisters late into the night and pretending he didn’t miss their bright chatter and infectious energy. In fact, Roy still wasn't entirely certain whether Miss Hawkeye attended school in town or not. He never saw her during the day when one might expect school to be in session, but then again he never saw her leaving or coming home dressed in a school uniform either. He just plain _didn’t_ see her. 

Not that she made an effort to call attention to herself when she _was_ present...she moved on silent feet through the house, flitting like a ghost from room to room. Judging from the few glimpses he’d had of the girl, he’d seen how thoughtful she was, and how solicitous of Hawkeye-sensei’s health and comfort. More than once, she’d slipped into the room unnoticed by the elder scholar to carry away dishes he’d left out from an earlier meal or to bring in a fresh pot of tea.

Roy watched her every move with bright, curious eyes, eager to say something friendly towards her should she look his way, but so far she’d avoided his gaze and slipped away again in silence. His teacher always seemed vaguely surprised to find a cup of hot tea sitting at his elbow where he’d left an empty cup, but he simply drank it and continued his studies without comment. This just confused Roy further.

Miss Hawkeye’s behavior wasn't hostile, and she didn't seem exactly _unfriendly_ , just...cold. Or...shy?  Reserved? It was difficult to find an appropriate adjective to describe her. All that he knew for sure was that he was getting lonely in this big old house, and he was ready to make this girl a friend… if only she’d cooperate.

* * *

 

**April 19**

_“You’ll never guess what I found out today. I was poking about in the library, and I found an old picture of sensei stuck in between the pages of a book about a type of Xingese medical alchemy. He’s sitting beside a really pretty woman holding a baby, and on the back, they are listed as his wife and daughter._

_Miss Riza Hawkeye is Hawkeye-sensei’s **daughter**. _

_I’d never have guessed it. Miss Riza doesn’t look a thing like her father, except maybe for the blonde hair. And even that’s not exactly a unique trait! To judge from the photo I found, though, she looks an awful lot like her mom—same eyes, cheekbones, lips… the only difference besides age is that Mrs. Hawkeye wore her hair long and loose, in big, soft curls._

_Anyway, I’m really glad I found this out before I actually asked one of them and made a complete fool of myself. Maybe you girls spotted it long ago and are laughing and saying I really ought to have known…but how could I? Hawkeye-sensei didn’t even introduce her as his daughter when we met. (Oh, and according to this photograph, Riza **is** her full first name—her mother’s was Tereza. Just something else I’d been wondering about.) Hawkeye-sensei never calls her any nicknames or terms of endearment, nor does anything about his behavior distinguish her as his only child. _

_I suppose he’s not that kind of man. Not the sentimental type, I mean. But it still seems odd to me that Miss Hawkeye’s own father treats her with the same cool cordiality as he might be expected to show a distant relation. And she’s the same way. She acts almost as though she’s a servant in her own home, never speaking unless spoken to, keeping her eyes downcast, and going about her business without disturbing the master of the house. I don’t see or hear them talking to each other at all, really, although I’m sure they must._

_Also, according to the date on the photo, Miss Hawkeye is a whole three years younger than I am. From the way she carries herself (her "bearing" as Elinor would call it,) I'd assumed she was my age or even a bit older. I suppose she had to grow up fast, since it seems like she's had to look after herself and her dad since her mom died. Sensei is far too immersed in his research into flame alchemy to pay attention to anything else. I wonder whether he'd slowly starve to death if she wasn't here to make sure he ate._

_Since I don't have much else to do, I explored some of the property behind the house this afternoon after studying all morning. Lucy and Claire would love it. It's a bit overgrown and wild, true, but it's actually really pretty that way. There are some amazing roses growing along one side of the house, and you'd never believe how many different colors and sizes there are. The grass has grown really tall in the front of the house, and there are a lot of wildflowers scattered in the mix too. Around the back there is even an old barn, but it doesn't look like any livestock has been kept there in ages. I did find an old doll in the hay loft, so Miss Hawkeye probably played there when she was younger. It was pretty dirty in there, though, more like a junk heap than anything else. The wood is rotten in places, just like some parts of the porch around the house. I don't think sensei even notices the state of the outside of the house, to be honest, and Miss Hawkeye can't possibly handle it all on her own._

_I can almost hear Veronica saying "sexist!" and getting all indignant, but don't misunderstand me: I'm not saying that a girl isn't capable of doing groundskeeper's work or repairs. Miss Hawkeye certainly is slender and delicate and all, so it definitely wouldn't be an easy job for her. But she already has the whole inside of this great big house to manage all on her own. Dealing with the upkeep of the property on top of the housework and the cooking, plus school? That's just expecting too much of any one person. Maybe I should see if there is anything out there that I can help with…checking for holes in the roof or something. It will give me something to do between lessons, and I guess it would be good exercise while I am at it._

_Anyway, there is a lot more to the property that I haven't seen yet. I can't wait to spend some time in those old woods!"_

* * *

 

In a rare display of uncertainty, Chris Mustang chewed on her lower lip as she re-read her nephew’s latest letter for the third time. She caught herself after a moment and quickly pulled out a hand mirror to check her lipstick.

Funny, wasn’t it? That he’d sent this one letter independent of the others? His “weekly” packet had arrived only the day before; the girls were squabbling over it downstairs even now. So why send them a single letter, and so soon? Why not send it with the next weekly packet?

Perhaps it wasn’t so strange. Knowing Roy, his little ‘discovery’ had so surprised him that he’d just had to share it as soon as possible with his girls. Whom he very obviously missed, more than either he or his aunt had anticipated.

“A little loneliness is probably good for him,” Chris thought, absently. “These girls fawning over him all day will only give him an inflated sense of his own importance, if we’re not careful.”

She rose slowly, and moved to her window to gaze out over the rooftops. “This young Miss Hawkeye sounds like a sensible sort of girl, quiet though she may be. Knows better than to trust a person on sight, at least,” she mused.

Then she smiled suddenly, and all the traces of uncertainly cleared from her face. “I hope she makes him work for it. Trust and friendship should be earned, after all. He should know what it's like to have to want something that doesn't come easy, for a change. To have to really work at it. Yes, she'll be good for him.” Downstairs, raised voices and bright laughter announced the arrival of Violet and Ada. Chris glanced at the letter one last time before locking it in her desk drawer.

“Daughter, hm? Grumman, you sly old fox,” she whispered. Her smile turned slightly feral as she locked her office door behind her.

It was time to get back to work.  

* * *

 

**April 24**

Roy froze in the doorway to the kitchen, surprised. He’d already become so used to her elusiveness, that stumbling across Miss Hawkeye like this, in an unguarded moment, came as something of a shock. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to study her with the eye of a young man who'd been raised to prize female beauty as a valuable asset to be used to one's advantage.

He had, of course, seen far more beautiful girls. But Miss Riza was still rather cute—boyish haircut aside, the soft blonde hair and fair complexion made an interesting contrast to her dark brown eyes. He still couldn’t trace any of her father’s features in her face, which made him feel a _very_ little less foolish about not being able to guess their relationship immediately.

She hadn’t stirred since his approach, but remained sitting quietly at the kitchen table, cradling a mug in her hands and seemingly lost in thought. Roy was starting to feel a bit of a pig just staring at the poor girl, so he cleared his throat, to alert her to his presence. He didn’t want to scare her.

He failed miserably in that aim.

She jerked violently at the small sound, slopping tea all down her front with a loud gasp. He saw a flicker of what might have been fear cross her face in that split second before she regained control of herself. Glancing hastily around the room, Roy spotted a towel on a counter and jumped forward to offer it to her. She watched him with a perturbed expression, and didn’t say a word.

"I’m so sorry Miss Hawkeye, I didn’t mean to startle you," he cried, flustered. "Are you all right? Did the tea burn you?" Oddly enough, _his_ nervousness had a calming effect on her. She relaxed her tense frame very slightly and smiled ruefully up at him as she accepted the towel from his eager hands. He couldn’t help but notice that she had a really pretty smile.

"No, I’ll be fine," she said softly, mopping at the rapidly cooling liquid staining her dress. "Please don’t blame yourself. I thought—I didn't realize you’d be awake at this hour. Usually the students sleep in much later. I...I wasn't expecting anyone else to be downstairs yet." Her large dark eyes flicked rapidly between his face, the floor, the dishes in the sink behind him, and back to his face again. Then she dropped her gaze to the damp towel in her hands again, brow furrowed in consternation.

Raised by a woman of Chris’s ilk, Roy had become quite good at picking up on the subtleties of body language and tone of voice. Miss Hawkeye's discomfort was clear, as was a vague sort of anxiety. Perhaps she was embarrassed by the state of the kitchen (which was untidier than he’d yet seen it). She probably hadn’t bothered to clean up yet because she was so used to being left alone downstairs for another couple of hours.

Of course, he couldn’t really _know_ what was running through her head, without any other insight into her personality. But he thought his guess was a good one. All he could do was apologize again and try his best to make her understand that he wasn't usually as big an ass as he appeared at present. She did respond to a few of his questions, and allowed him to brew some fresh tea for her. But after a few minutes, she brushed him off and made her escape.

Dismayed, Roy made his way back upstairs without even eating breakfast, forgetting hunger in this new problem he’d found to wrestle with. How could he make friends with Miss Hawkeye if she wanted nothing to do with him? Hard to blame her for that, really. Especially when all he’d managed to do to recommend himself was to scare her half to death: bursting in on her when she’d thought she was alone and peppering her with questions. Maybe he could ask the girls for advice on how to win her over.

With that thought in mind, he settled at his desk again to begin the first of this week's letters.

 

_"Dear Auntie Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_I'm off to a bad start with my attempt to befriend Miss Hawkeye. I didn't sleep well last night, so I ended up getting up much earlier this morning than I have been doing since my arrival. I went down to the kitchen for breakfast, and I found the mysterious Miss Hawkeye sitting there with a cup of tea._

_I've just realized that I haven't described her properly for you yet, so let me tell you what she looks like while I'm thinking of it: she's slender, and shorter than me, with light blonde hair (which she keeps cut very short) and big brown eyes. They're an unusual shade of brown, almost like the color of honey…although they seem darker in certain lights. When I first met her, I would've described them as a sort of chocolate brown, but this morning they looked almost amber, because of the light coming in from the kitchen window._

_I was so surprised to find her actually sitting down and at rest for once, I stopped right in the doorway and just stared. After a few seconds passed and she still hadn't noticed me, I made a little noise in my throat so I wouldn't scare her when I walked in. But the sound startled her, and she ended up spilling tea all down her dress when she jumped._

_Now, I don't know about you girls, but I don't think **I'd** be feeling very friendly to someone who snuck up on me in the middle of my breakfast and made me spill scalding liquid all down my front. I did apologize, and she said it was all right, and we even talked for a few minutes before she left to change her dress. But I still felt like I'd intruded on her personal space, somehow, which isn’t likely to endear me to her._

_I found something out from our brief conversation, at least—Miss Hawkeye did make me breakfast those first few days. She'd assumed I would sleep in like her father (and his previous students, it seems), so she was leaving food out for me after I'd already come and gone in the mornings. We must have just missed each other, she said, because she's an early riser herself. She assumed, when she found the un-eaten food later, that I either didn't usually eat breakfast, or that she was making food I didn't like. She knew I'd help myself if I was hungry, so she gave up on leaving warm food out._

_Of course I apologized for inconveniencing her, and praised her cooking, but this served only to embarrass her. She left right after that, saying that she needed to change out of her wet clothes. I feel like she might be a little afraid of me. Any of you girls have good suggestions for convincing her that I'm not such a bad person? She's so shy that compliments of any kind seem to distress her._

_Even if we don't up end as friends, I don't want her to **dislike** me…_

 

Suddenly embarrassed, Roy nearly scratched out that last line. He didn’t want the girls to think he might be pining over his teacher’s daughter, for pity’s sake. How cliché was that? And he wasn’t pining! It’s just that she was the only person near his age that he’d even seen so far in town (although he was certain there were others).

He re-read his letter again…he didn’t sound like some lovelorn teenager, right?

Thinking about the sorts of things he’d found in the silly romances his sisters often read, Roy snickered. The girls couldn’t possibly construct a romance out of the fact that he and Miss Hawkeye were roughly the same age and living under the same roof. They’d hardly had any contact with one another, after all. It’s not like Miss Riza was batting her eyelashes at him, or fainting and blushing at every turn. And he certainly hadn’t swooped in to rescue her from any unsavory characters lately. There hadn’t been any "our eyes met across the room" moments, nor had anyone said anything about confessing their undying devotion. She was cute, he'd admit. But he certainly hadn't been captivated by her beauty, nor she with his charm. She didn’t seem all that impressed by him, period. So in the end there wasn’t much to work with.

After a moment, he just shrugged—he’d written too much to start the letter over, and a scratched out line would only fuel his sisters' curiosity. They could tease him about it all they wanted; he wouldn’t be there to hear it. Not liking the idea of someone disliking you without a reason was perfectly normal and in no way indicative of romantic attachment. With a decisive little nod, he closed his notebook and reached for his latest alchemy lesson.

If only he knew the things a feminine imagination was capable of, Roy might have re-written the letter after all.

* * *

**April 27**

When Roy saw her next, Miss Hawkeye was half reclined on a wrought iron garden seat, surrounded by fragrant curling stands of honeysuckle.

“Oh—good morning, Miss Hawkeye,” he said cheerfully as he approached. She looked up at him with something like horror, and he quickly dropped the hand that he had raised in friendly greeting. “I’m sorry, am I intruding?” he asked, unnerved by the expression on her face.

“Not at all,” she murmured. But she had already risen to her feet and clutched her heavy book defensively against her chest. Honestly, she looked as though she wanted to run away.

“I, er, didn’t realize you were home during the day,” he tried again, smiling at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I do live here,” she rejoined, her voice sweet and gentle in spite of the rather cold words. She hadn't moved in the slightest, but he could see that she was coiled as tight as a spring and still poised to flee.

“Well, yes, I know _that_. I just—I assumed you were in school during the day, that’s all,” he answered. “I never see you around during school hours.” _Or at all._

She studied him silently for a moment before she spoke again.

"I’m home-schooled. My father teaches me whenever he’s not working on his own research or busy with a student.”

Just when the hell would _that_ be? Roy thought, but he knew better than to say it aloud. He suddenly had the impression that she was waiting for him to make a disparaging remark and had steeled herself to hear whatever it was. How strange…

“Huh, I had no idea,” he said lightly. “But you never seem to study in the library. Is this where you read instead?” He glanced around approvingly.

The arbor was a lovely, secluded little spot. The cushions on the garden seat looked soft and comfortable, and the heavy vines of climbing honeysuckle provided ample shade from the warm spring sun. Tucked between the kitchen gardens and the neglected orchard at the back of the house, he might never have realized this place existed if he hadn't set out to explore the gardens more thoroughly today.

“No, not always,” she said evasively, shifting her stance slightly. “But you’re right; I really only go into father’s library to clean.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Why do you ask, Mr. Mustang?” Her eyes had narrowed, suspiciously. Roy's heart sank. She really didn't like him at all, did she? He rubbed at the back of his neck, self-consciously, and thought about the advice his sisters had given him. _Be yourself. Be honest. Keep being friendly and polite._

“Well…it does get a bit lonely studying all by myself. And I thought—I mean, it’d be nice to have company,” he said. Why was she staring at him like he had said something weird? “I’m just trying to get to know you, Miss Hawkeye,” he said, a little awkwardly.

“You want to get to know me?” she repeated, in a tone of genuine curiosity. “Why?”

Roy was rendered nearly speechless. How was he supposed to answer _that_? _Because I'm lonesome and homesick and I don't have any other friends here?_

“Well, I’m staying in your home, after all, and, you know, accepting your hospitality,” he stumbled over his words, unprepared. “I thought—I mean, I wanted to…shouldn’t I try to get to know the family I’m living with?” he finished rather desperately. He was aware he'd sounded a bit stupid, but her question had caught him off guard. How was one supposed to explain the desire to be friends, anyway?

“Regardless of the living arrangements, my father’s students don’t normally bother getting to know me,” she replied. “I’m certainly no one of consequence; befriending a mere girl wouldn’t much benefit a serious scholar.”

Roy was distracted from his own poor choice of words by her matter-of-fact tone…did Miss Hawkeye really think that? That she wasn’t worth befriending because she wasn’t an important enough person? Or was she testing him somehow?

“What do you—I don’t understand,” he began to say. What had those other students said to her? Miss Hawkeye seemed to think she’d said too much, and her face flushed pink.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Mustang, I have some work I really must attend to,” she said, and turned to go.

“Wait!” Roy cried. She paused. “Don’t leave on my account,” he said hurriedly. “I was just going anyway, if _you_ wanted to stay.”

At that, she looked back over her shoulder at him, still holding her book to her chest like a shield. Roy took a breath and forged ahead. Honesty. All right.

“Look, I didn't know that you were here reading; I really didn’t mean to disturb you or chase you away or anything like that. I just smelled the honeysuckle from the back door and came looking for it, because it reminds me of…well, never mind that. Point is, I don’t want to be a bother, or not more of one than I already have been. So don’t feel like you have to go just because I’ve blundered in to your secret spot.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but Miss Hawkeye didn’t reply.

“Let me put it another way, then,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to look around the woods for a bit, now. See you later, maybe?” And he gave her a jaunty little half-wave before marching resolutely towards the cool shady trees that bordered the Hawkeye estate.

Geez, what kind of people did her father normally teach, if his daughter thought she had to kowtow to them and give up her place when they came, or stay out of sight unless called for?

“Poor kid, bossed around by a bunch of conceited, self-important jerks,” he grumbled to himself. “She probably thinks all alchemists are just the same. No wonder she wants nothing to do with me. Why should she think I’m any different?”

When he chanced a glance back over his shoulder, Miss Hawkeye was already gone. But it wasn’t the last time he’d see her that day.

 

_“I explored more of the garden this morning after breakfast, and I stumbled upon the part that Miss Hawkeye looks after._

_Most of the property has sort of a forlorn, abandoned feel to it, as I've said before. I already mentioned the old barn, right? There are some fields around it, naturally, but they aren't being used now. I would think Hawkeye-sensei could sell them or rent them out if he needs the money, but maybe he prefers keeping other people at a distance._

_Between the house and the barn there's a little grove of fruit trees, all overgrown and in sore need of pruning, as well as the kitchen gardens._

_And tucked between the orchard and the garden is a little spot that I think must have been a favorite of Mrs. Hawkeye's when she was alive. (It reminded me of that one scene in **The Secret Garden** , Claire, with the walled garden full of flowers and things. You know which part I mean.) Anyway, right behind the neatly tended beds of vegetables and herbs that Miss Hawkeye uses, I found a little arbor of honeysuckle tangled around a garden seat. And who do you suppose I found there, reading and basking in the sun?_

_I remembered what you girls said, and tried to just be my normal self. We talked a little bit about her education, and it turns out she is mostly self-taught, although she calls it being home-schooled. We didn't talk long, since she had work to do, so I didn't get a chance to ask her what subjects she's studying._

_But coincidentally, this afternoon's lesson with Hawkeye-sensei went a bit later than usual. Just as we were finishing up, Miss Hawkeye came into the library. She apologized for disturbing us, and would have backed out again if her father hadn't gestured for her to stay. He told me I could go, but I was really curious about what he wanted her for, since he pays so little attention to her otherwise. And so I stopped just outside the door and listened. Discretely, of course._

_Apparently sensei called her in to examine her on what she's been learning lately. He asked all kinds of difficult questions, about history and literature and math, and as far as I know she answered all of them right. She knows all kinds of things I've never even heard of; I couldn't have answered half of the questions he asked her! He didn't praise her at all for being such a good student, but when she left his study, she looked really happy… I suppose she could tell how pleased he was with her work. She's cute when she smiles like that; I wish she'd smile more often **.”**_

* * *

 

**April 30**

Roy frowned down at his notebook. He was running out of pages; he’d need a new one soon.

Speaking of which…

Yes, he had enough. He glanced at the clock. It was still early, and he had no lesson today. As good a day as any for a nice walk into town.  After carefully tearing the pages from his notebook, Roy folded them and tucked them into an envelope.

He plodded down the stairs, determined not to go about as silently as Miss Hawkeye always did. If she was in the kitchen again, he would give her fair warning this time. If he wasn’t sneaking up on her, then she could avoid him if she wanted to.

She _wasn’t_ in the kitchen, and Roy’s heart sank just a little. Perhaps she really was avoiding him.

However, she’d left a covered plate of something sitting out on the table where she usually left his meals. He peeked under the cover. Sticky buns! And they were the kind with a thick layer of caramel syrup and chopped walnuts on top, too. Well, if she’d gone to all this trouble, then he might as well take a moment to enjoy them, he thought with a grin.

As he started the kettle for a cup of tea, Roy noticed that there were no dirty dishes in the sink this morning. And the counter tops and floor were practically sparkling. So, Miss Hawkeye had a proud streak after all, eh? He snickered. What a meticulous little housewife!

Keeping this in mind, he washed his own dishes when he’d finished, and left them on the drying rack before setting off.

The postmistress was a middle-aged woman of the soft, round, and motherly type. By this time, she’d taken an interest in the polite and charming young man who wrote so diligently to his female relatives. His letters were always nice and thick, and his family had already sent him several in return. She did her best to fish for some personal information, but she was no match for the nephew of Chris Mustang. Roy gave her just enough to satisfy her basic curiosity without actually revealing anything she didn't already know, and was careful to do it in such a way that she thought him more polite and charming than ever.

From her, on the other hand, he learned that there were in fact several kids in town near his age, that these boys and girls attended a small country school located near the train station, and that they spent their afternoons (once school was over for the day) either working on their respective family farms or making such mischief as they could around town. Not much chance he’d run into them accidentally, unfortunately. But good to know all the same.

Taking the steps of the post office two at a time, Roy headed next to the dry goods store. It was something of a general store which carried just about anything a person could want, from clothing to hardware to candy to paper. He bought himself a new notebook, and then spent several minutes loitering in the front of the store, coveting a thick navy blue scarf on display in the window. The balmy spring nights weren’t cold enough to justify such an extravagant purchase, and it would be summer soon…for all he know, his teacher would grow tired of him before the weather turned cold again in the fall. But it was such a handsome scarf, and reminded him in some vague way of this father. Perhaps he’d worn a similar scarf, when he was alive? Roy couldn’t quite remember.  

Sighing, he turned away from the window at last, only to slam right into someone passing behind him that he hadn't noticed. He made an impressive dive to catch the package he'd knocked out of the someone's hands as the someone staggered but managed not to topple to the ground. Straightening, Roy found himself looking into the startled white face of his teacher's daughter.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Hawkeye,” he cried, completely appalled. Both apologetic and anxious, he took hold of her arm as though to assure himself that she was still intact. “I should’ve looked where I was going; I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Miss Hawkeye turned an appealing shade of pink as she shook her head. At the same moment, the hairs on the back of Roy’s neck prickled. 

Perturbed, he glanced around, only to find every eye down the whole street riveted on the pair of them. Roy didn’t particularly mind their stares on his own account—he was already used to the townsfolk eyeballing the new kid in town. But it bothered him that his actions, however unintentionally, embarrassed Miss Hawkeye in front of her friends and neighbors. “I really am sorry,” he said softly enough that only she could hear him, and he withdrew his hand from her arm.

Mute, she reached out to take the package he’d caught for her. Though her face was still faintly pink, the expression in her dark eyes was an odd mixture of fear and defiance. Pretending he hadn’t noticed her outstretched hand, Roy tucked the bulky package under his own arm instead. He needed to ask her a question that would require something more than a yes or no head shake.

“Are you heading back home already, or is there something else you needed here in town?”

“I’m just on my way to the market,” she replied, barely audible.

“Well, then, let me help you carry your things back,” he said quickly. “To make up for barreling into you like that. Please?” She hesitated, and Roy held his breath. To refuse him now would border on rudeness, but it would tell him what he needed to know—whether or not she really wished to avoid him. She finally inclined her head.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate the help.”

Roy beamed with such sincerity that her lips quirked upwards almost in spite of herself. He could practically hear the collective intake of breath from the various onlookers at her smile. He hoped Miss Hawkeye didn’t notice the way people were suddenly whispering all around them. Ah, small town gossip. 

She had noticed. But she surprised him with her reaction. Rather than blushing and stammering and acting like the shy young girl she was, she straightened her spine, threw her shoulders back, and walked right past the whispering horde with the poise and dignity of a queen. The whispers died down at once. Roy was left to be mildly impressed as he followed meekly in her wake. This girl was really something else, wasn’t she?

As they visited the various stalls in search of meat and milk and bread, Roy found that his quiet companion was no more disposed to idle chatter here in town then when they were at home. The townspeople were certainly still keeping a sharp eye (or two) on him, both because of the outsider he was, and because he was trotting around after a young girl they all knew. But in spite of the silent scrutiny, he had the impression that they were carefully maintaining some kind of distance.

They waved and smiled as they passed, but no one stopped to engage Miss Hawkeye in conversation. Various shopkeepers spoke familiarly with her, calling her “dear” and “sweetie,” and offering her a few extra apples or slices of bacon or what have you, but she was no warmer or friendlier toward them than she’d ever been to Roy. She was polite, of course, and accepted their offerings gracefully and with appropriate expressions of gratitude, but she was the same reserved and gentle girl he had seen up until now. This behavior puzzled him.

It struck him like a lightning bolt when he finally figured it out.

None of these people were actually friends with Miss Hawkeye. Berthold Hawkeye, the famous scholar and alchemist, was accorded a sort of elevated status in his small country hometown; Roy had already noticed as much. His neighbors treated him as though he belonged to a different class than they did. And by association, they treated his daughter differently as well. The little gifts, the extras, might be viewed as neighborly gestures of affection. Or they might be payments towards past or future debts, given in exchange for services that an accomplished alchemist could provide them.

Roy wondered, not for the first time, whether Miss Riza had any friends at all in town; whether there was anyone here who actually cared about _her_ and not just about the favors her father could do for them.

With all of these ideas churning in his brain, Roy found that he didn’t mind the silence that had fallen between them. Honestly, it wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable silence, but a peaceful one. And for the first time, Miss Hawkeye seemed relaxed in his presence. Of course, neither of them knew it yet, but this—shopping for groceries together while Roy insisted on carrying the heaviest things—would slowly become a part of their weekly routine.

Roy didn’t speak again until they had started walking back, his arms heavy with her purchases.

“By the way, the sweet rolls you left out this morning were amazing. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the recipe?” Her eyes flicked to his, surprised, and then away.

“Do you bake?”

“Oh, not me. One of my aunt's employees likes to bake. Juliet’s always looking for new things to make for her roommates.”

“I see. I don’t mind sharing. And the recipe is fairly simple,” she replied after a second’s pause. She had gotten a little tense, again, Roy noticed. But he thought of what his sisters had said in their last letter—he _was_ still a relative stranger to her. And to judge from the way the townspeople behaved around her, she probably didn’t interact a whole lot with people her own age, much less with boys. Everyone else held her at arm’s length, after all, and even her father’s previous students mostly ignored her, by her own admission. Perhaps she didn’t know _how_ she was supposed to talk to him.

“Thanks! I’ll copy it out in my next letter home,” was all that he said, mind racing.

“Were you in town to send a letter, then?” she asked, tilting her head a little. It was the first personal thing she’d asked him.

“Mm-hm. I write to my aunt almost every day, and I try to send the letters home once a week,” he explained.

“To your aunt?” she echoed, curiosity piqued. _Not to your mom or dad?_ –was obviously what she wanted to ask, Roy just knew it.

“Yes. My aunt’s raised ever me since my parents died,” he said matter-of-factly. Stricken, she turned to face him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked; it's really none of my business.”

And there it was again, that odd whisper of fear, that sudden tension shimmering in the air between them. It was as though she were bracing herself for a hot lash of anger. Confused but trying to understand her feelings, Roy hastened to reassure her.

“No, it’s all right. They died in an accident when I was little, so I don’t really remember them well.  I’m very lucky, really, to have an aunt like Chris; she’s my dad’s younger sister and she’s been awfully decent to me.  If it weren’t for her, I’d never have been able to learn alchemy at all, much less leave home to study with a proper master,” he explained earnestly.

“I see,” she said softly.

Roy could almost feel her retreating, withdrawing back into that hard cold shell of hers.  He had to do something, or say something, that would leave even just a crack open.

“Speaking of which, what are _you_ studying, these days?” he asked, thinking of that heavy book she’d been reading in the garden.

She hesitated again, but seemed to decide it wouldn’t hurt to answer.

“Drachman literature, mostly. Father wants me to learn to read and write in Drachman, eventually, but only after I’ve gotten a firm grasp on Cretan, which I’ve just started. I'm supposed to start studying eighteenth century history once I finish with the Great Cretan Wars."

“Wow, all of that? That’s advanced stuff!” A calculating look from beneath her lashes.

“Do you really think so?” she ventured to ask.

“Yeah!” Roy answered enthusiastically. “Learning a different language, especially one so complex as Cretan? I know university students older than the both of us put together that never bothered with it. And Drachman literature is pretty heavy…all that philosophy and psychology! At least, I know _I_ struggled with the little bit of it I’ve had to read. So, yeah. I think it’s pretty amazing that you’re learning all of that.”

“Well, I can’t do alchemy, so I have to make up for it somehow,” Miss Hawkeye replied. Before Roy had formulated an answer to that surprising statement, she tilted her head slightly so that she could look up at him again. “So have…have you read anything Drachman, then?” she asked, shyly.

“Only Leonovski. _The Brothers_.”

“That’s the book I’m reading right now,” she said, surprised.

“Oh yeah? So what do you think of it? I mean, I liked the story and most of the characters, but I remember having a hard time keeping all the names straight. Which part are you on?”

“I’ve just finished the chapter where Alex has the argument with his second brother, the one who thinks he might be going mad but is afraid to admit it?”

“Oh, right! I remember that part. The tension between them as the fight plays out was so intense…but you can still see how much Alex loves John, and how concerned he is for his well-being, even in the heat of the argument. Isn’t that where Alex’s old girlfriend shows up and ruins everything?”

“Yvette?  Yes! I can’t stand her.”

“I didn’t like her either! She’s such a hypocrite, breaking up with Alex once the rich old man dies, don’t you think?”

The discussion on literature lasted all the rest of the walk. It wasn’t until Roy unloaded the last of the packages onto the kitchen table that Riza seemed to notice: she’d talked more to him in the past half hour than she’d done in the past three weeks put together. A little awkwardly, she thanked Roy for helping her with the shopping.

“Least I could do, after nearly knocking you down,” and he smiled at her. He was still just thrilled that she hadn’t run away as though afraid to catch his stupidity or something. She seemed uncertain of what to do next.

“Um, are you hungry? I could start lunch now, if you’d like…” It was still early, and Roy knew that his teacher probably wasn’t even awake yet.

“Nah, don’t trouble on my account. How about some tea, though?” Roy said, while moving towards the kettle himself. She blinked, and then reached for the teacups. While they waited for the water to boil, she even let him help put away the groceries, though she tried at first to protest.

“You really don’t have to—yes, the top shelf there. And the sugar goes just beneath it,” she said, as the kettle began to squeal.

“I don’t mind," he said, standing on tiptoes to reach the spot she’d indicated. "We aren’t meeting for a lesson today, so I’m not in any rush. Ah, thanks," he accepted the cup of tea she’d poured for him. “I was just going to spend the rest of the morning reading, actually, so don’t let me get in your way if you have studying or anything to do.”

He plunked himself down in the chair opposite hers and fished a cheap dime store novel out of his coat pocket. It was one Claire had recommended in the last letter from the girls: a rather improbable thriller about a woman who was shut up in an insane asylum under a case of mistaken identity. He had just reached the part where the woman’s half-sister was breaking into the asylum to save her, and he was curious to see how it would all end up.

Roy could still feel Miss Hawkeye’s eyes on him, but he kept his gaze firmly on the page. If she wanted him to leave, she would have to say so. If she wanted to leave herself, then he wouldn’t stop her. She needed to let him know where he stood, here. It was exhausting to be so uncertain all the time.

Miss Riza hesitated only a moment before drifting across the room, where she plucked her own book from the shelf. Slowly, she settled herself at the table across from him. The two children read in companionable silence for the remainder of the morning.

 

_“_ _I think I’ve finally convinced Miss Hawkeye I’m not a complete monster…”_

 

Roy wrote late into the night, happier than he’d been since he’d stepped off the train onto the platform of this little town.


	3. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris's girls make their thoughts known as their adopted foster brother entertains them to no end with his letters, and Roy makes inroads with the whole 'I know trust is earned and all, but can we please just be friends already?' thing - oh, and with the alchemy stuff, too.

**May 4**

Roy had no idea how eagerly his ‘sisters’ waited for each new batch of letters to come.

Once everyone had gotten her chance to read each letter, and they had gossiped and giggled over every phrase, Chris quietly claimed it and bore it away to her own private office to join the others, leaving the younger women to work on their replies. Both she and Grumman were confident that the girls were unaware of the true purpose behind the correspondence, although if any one of them suspected, she kept it to herself.

And once a week, Grumman sidled into the bar and ordered his whiskey neat. He knew Chris had been watching him more intently than usual, and she knew that he knew it. But neither of them said a word when she casually left the small packets, neatly tied with ribbon, next to his empty glass along with his change. Grumman only smiled elusively and slipped away as silently as he’d arrived.

Responding to Roy’s letters became something of a weekly ritual for Madame’s girls. They’d gather at Sophie’s small apartment, as she was the only one with a proper writing desk, shouting out questions and advice and words of encouragement to be passed along to their ‘little brother,’ while Elinor scribbled furiously and laughingly told them to slow down and speak one at a time. Elinor had won the honor of being Roy’s primary correspondent by popular vote, as she had the best penmanship.

As each page was filled, Elinor passed it to Violet, who drew funny pictures in the margins while Lucy giggled over her shoulder. Ada and Claire often ended up in an argument over the wisdom of sending Roy books to alleviate his boredom ( _But Claire, he should be studying! Isn’t that why he’s there? / Oh come off it, Ada! Roy can’t study ALL the time; he’s got to take a break every now and then!_ ) But all eight of them managed to agree that Juliet should send him a care package of her fabulous shortbread cookies. (Although the first batch she attempted was promptly devoured by her co-conspirators…for the sake of quality assurance, of course. It wouldn’t do to send their beloved little brother cookies that were sub-par, would it?)

And so, upon the receipt of their third weekly packet, the girls descended on Sophie’s little townhome and made themselves comfortable in the living area with wine, tea, and Juliet’s cookies.

“She sounds like a bit of an introvert,” Claire said, skimming over the letters again for reference. “It’s not just shyness; she seems perfectly fine talking to him when she _wants_ to.”

“And why wouldn’t she want to?” countered Ada, who was sitting on the floor and resting her head against Claire’s knees. “Even if she doesn’t know him very well, he’s smart and handsome and charming! And sweet, and funny, and--”

“Yes, of course, Ada; paragon of virtue and all that,” Claire interrupted, with an absentminded pat of Ada’s blonde curls. “But she has no way to _know_ that when all he’s done is ambush her and ramble on about cleaning supplies and cooking breakfast and what not. Elinor, remind him to ask her about her interests, for pity’s sake. Maybe she’ll warm up to him if he stops acting like an awkward teenager who’s never talked to a girl before.”

“And what **is** that all about?” Elinor laughed, pen flying over the paper before her. “It’s so unlike him!”

“It’s probably the first time a girl hasn’t fallen at his feet the moment he smiles at her,” Juliet answered from her perch on Sophie’s kitchen counter.

“Our little heartbreaker,” Ada murmured affectionately.

“However unintentionally, our little miss is playing hard to get,” Juliet continued, reaching for another cookie. “Which only makes him more curious about her, and more determined to win her over.”

“Remember what Madame said?” Lucy piped up cheerily from beside Claire. “About how Master Hawkeye goes through students so fast? Miss Hawkeye probably doesn’t have much chance to get to know them well because they’re never _there_ long enough. I mean, friendships take some time to build, right? So, the harder Roy studies, the longer he’ll be able to stay. And the longer he’s there, the more she’ll get used to him, and the more she gets used to him, the more likely they are to become friends!”

“He’ll grow on her, you mean,” Sophie said, a mischievous sparkle in her blue-green eyes. “Just like a fungus.” The others erupted in giggles, and Sophie had to duck to avoid the throw pillow that Lucy aimed at her head.

“Oh, you know what I mean!” Lucy said, but she was giggling with the rest.

“No, it does make sense,” Violet agreed as she opened another bottle of wine. “If the town is as small as he says, and the girl doesn’t go to the local school with all of her neighbors’ children, then she probably doesn’t really interact with kids her own age. And I’m sure not all of her father’s students have been young. So she may not know _how_ to act around him.”

“And Roy’s not exactly the retiring type,” Sophie chimed in again, tossing her red-gold hair and pushing her wine glass towards Violet, who took the hint and refilled it. “He’s probably going stir-crazy in that little backwater farming town. He’s bound to overwhelm her with the force of his personality, if she’s the only one around for him to talk to.”

“There’s something else going on here,” Veronica said softly from Claire’s other side. She’d gently taken the letters from Claire’s hands a moment before. The others all turned to her with questioning looks. “There’s more to this….see how he says she seems scared of him, in the kitchen? And how she doesn’t know how to react to a compliment, when he’s just trying to be nice…I know it was an awkward attempt on his part, but still.”

“What are you thinking, Vee?” Juliet prompted, leaning forward a little. She had an idea of where Veronica was going with this.

“I bet some of those other students were horrible to her,” Veronica said, looking up at last. “So now she just avoids them all, as best she can.”

“Oh! You mean you think she’s been picked on?” Lucy cried, distressed.

“Maybe,” Veronica replied, blue eyes hard and angry. “Seems likely, though, doesn’t it? Why else would she be scared of _Roy_? That kid’s a pussycat.”

“You don’t think…I mean, there’s her father, too,” Violet said. “You don’t think he could’ve--?” But Veronica was shaking her head.

“Doubtful. She doesn’t avoid _him_ , but she’ll only go into a room where Roy is if her father is already there too. Remember his first few letters? The very first night, when she asks him about meals only after her father is there? And then that other letter, where he talks about how she brings her father tea in the study sometimes when they’re both in there, but that he hardly sees her otherwise?”

“Oh, the poor little darling,” Lucy whispered.

“Do you think—her father might’ve added to his bad reputation simply because he’s thrown out students he could’ve kept on? Ones that were bullying her, I mean?” Juliet asked, frowning.

“Why else would he get rid of a steady source of income?” Veronica replied with an arched brow.

“Sure, because even an idiot who was hopeless at alchemy could be kept on and milked for the income he provided, at least to a point,” Sophie agreed. “So they did something to piss him off, else he wouldn’t have sent them away quite so soon. I think you’ve hit it, Vee.”

“Do you think we should say something?” Ada asked, looking up at Elinor, who had long since stopped writing and was listening quietly.

“To Roy?” she asked. Ada nodded. After a moment, Elinor shook her head. “It wouldn’t change anything, really.”

“He should’ve noticed it by now, anyway,” Claire added. “I know he’s just a kid, but he’s not a complete moron.”

“Well, not all the time,” Sophie said, grinning. “But I agree. At the very least, he’s already noticed that she’s not the most trusting person, and he’s bound to wonder why that is. Start picking up the clues.”

“Right,” Violet agreed. “And even if he doesn’t _quite_ get it, don’t you think he should just keep on being himself? Let her see with her own eyes that he’s not the kind of boy to tease her or play mean pranks on her or whatever those others did?” The others were nodding.

“After all, it’s only been a few weeks,” Lucy chirped.  “She just needs more time to get to know him. She’ll see what a dear he is, I’m sure of it!”

“Right you are, Lu,” Claire said fondly, wrapping an arm around the younger girl, as the others smiled at her optimism.

“That’s that, then,” Elinor said, serenely taking up her pen again. “All right, where was I? What came after, ‘Do remember that your teacher’s specialty is flame alchemy, darling…’”

“Let’s see…how about this? ‘So no hanky-panky with the teacher’s daughter under that charming little honeysuckle arbor of yours,’” Sophie dictated.

“‘Unless you’d like to end your alchemy training with nothing more to show than a few second-degree burns on your bum,’” Veronica finished.

“Oh, that will embarrass him!” protested the tender-hearted Lucy.

“That’s the idea, dearest,” Claire said, gently tugging one of her golden locks. “But don’t you worry. Our boy can take a little teasing.”

“Now! Can we please talk about how adorable it is that Roy doesn’t even _see_ what a monster crush he has on this girl?” Ada asked.

“‘ _She's cute when she smiles like that; I wish she'd smile more often? **’**_ ” Lucy and Juliet quoted in unison. The other girls exploded into giggles and squeals.

“Oh, it’s a pity they’re so young, yet!” Violet lamented. “We could be asking him when the big day will be, and whether we’ll get to be bridesmaids, and all! But she’s still just a baby, not even legal for what, four? Five years?”

“I do hope we get to meet her, one day!” Lucy said, clapping her hands together. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if they became really close friends, and he brought her around for holidays and then when they got older they fell in love and got married and--”

“All right, all right,” Claire laughed, “You’re putting the cart before the horse! It’d be nice if they could have a conversation that didn’t end in her running away, to start with.”

“Right! So, Elinor, tell him to quit spooking the poor kid. Treat her like she’s a skittish baby deer. Be quiet, be calm, and let her come to him!” Sophie advised, still laughing.

“And be diligent in your studies! Or old man Hawkeye will chuck him out and all our wisdom will go to waste!” Juliet cried.

And Elinor’s pen dashed back and forth across the page, recording everything she heard. She smiled to herself, knowing that Roy’s ears would burn bright red upon reading this letter, even as Veronica added: “Dammit, I knew we should have given him kissing tips before he left! How can you explain that in _writing_?”

* * *

 

**May 15**

_Thanks for all your advice, girls, I really do appreciate it. Well, except for—YOU know which part! I’ll have to start burning your letters in case anyone else gets ahold of them, so they don’t get the wrong idea. Honestly. She’s just a kid! If you’re really so concerned for the state of my as-yet-un-burnt-butt, maybe you can tell me what you know about organic chemistry instead of writing the sorts of things that would get me immolated if the wrong person read them…_

Roy thought that he exercised admirable self-control by not throwing the hateful book across the room. To relieve his feelings, he slammed it shut instead, and gave it a petulant little shove across the table for good measure.

"Stupid organic chemistry," he mumbled, and slumped forward to rest his forehead against the cool wood of the desk. Why was this so damn _hard_?  He hadn’t had nearly this much trouble with the other assignments his master had given him, up until now.

Rolling his head sluggishly to one side, Roy squinted at the clock across the room. Hm. Maybe his brain felt like mush because he’d been studying the same material for more than eight hours now. Definitely time for a break.

He rose and stretched his stiff, cramped muscles luxuriously. Abandoning the offending book, Roy grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door. He had vague intentions of a taking a brisk walk before going in search of supper, which should be ready just after sunset according to Miss Hawkeye’s usual schedule. But when he reached the front hallway, his attention was drawn by the open door of the room he’d mentally termed The Blue Parlor.

All thoughts of a walk (and of chemistry) forgotten, Roy curiously and hesitantly stepped into the room. Normally, the door was kept closed, although not locked, and Roy had so far avoided it more from lack of interest than because he was prohibited entry. He’d only had the barest glimpse of it when his teacher had first shown him over the house that first night, but he remembered thinking at the time that this room had probably been the special province of the late Mrs. Hawkeye. It was definitely a feminine room, with the interior all done up in blue and cream, and the occasional accent in gold.

Though it was very much a grown-up lady’s sitting room and therefore very seldom used (and Roy knew without having to ask that his teacher never set foot in it), the elegant little parlor didn’t have the slightest air of neglect. Not a speck of dust on any surface, not the faintest hint of stale or musty air, and none of those wispy little cobwebs that seem always to materialize in the corners of unused rooms. If it wasn’t _quite_ a shrine to the memory of the long-deceased lady of the house, then it was undoubtedly a room that her daughter was at pains to preserve as closely to its original state as possible.

Most boys would have felt vaguely ill at ease in such a place, as though the very femininity of the room were a communicable disease they could catch from prolonged exposure. But Roy was not most boys, and growing up surrounded by women meant that he’d spent a great deal of time in soft, pretty parlors very similar to this one. In fact, everything in the room, from the chintz arm chairs to the delicate translucent curtains at the windows, felt familiar and friendly somehow. Just as the scent of honeysuckle reminded him of the perfume Claire favored, this parlor brought to mind the cool, serene presence of Elinor—she and Violet had a similar space in the home they shared. Which is why he felt at once soothed and refreshed and _at_ _home_ and wondered to himself why he’d never come in here before now.

He spotted a piano in one corner of the room, behind a little grouping of armchairs and a loveseat. Irresistibly drawn to the instrument, Roy moved closer, discarding his jacket on a chair as he passed. He sat down on the little stool and ran an experimental hand over the keys. It seemed to be in working order. Growing bolder, his fingers tripped rapidly up and down a few scales, which led him to conclude that the piano was in fact still in tune. Interesting. Did either of the Hawkeyes ever play it? If so, he’d certainly never heard them. Seemed a shame to let such a fine instrument go to waste.

“Do you play, Mr. Mustang?” a soft voice asked from behind him.

Roy jumped and whirled around to find Miss Hawkeye quietly perched on the edge of a window seat that he hadn’t observed before. How long had she been there? Had she come in behind him? But then how had she done so without his seeing?

And then he noticed that the window seat was set into a little alcove, with heavy brocade drapery on either side that could be pulled across it. They’d been drawn just a moment before, which meant that Miss Hawkeye had already been sitting on the plush blue cushion, both she and her seat effectively hidden, when Roy had walked in. Since he hadn’t known about the seat before now, she might have remained seated quietly, and he’d never have even dreamed she was there. He had the feeling this was significant, somehow, but he couldn’t quite wrap his tired brain around why. He did recall that she’d just asked him a question, and was waiting for his answer.

“What? Oh, no, I don’t play the piano. At least, not _well_. I took some lessons when I was younger, but I was never much good, so Aunt Chris let me give them up. What about you?”

“No. I never learned,” she replied, her expression inscrutable. And then Roy remembered his own assumption that this room had been kept exactly as it has always been since the death of Riza’s mother, and that the piano had belonged to her as well. The same piano he’d just been tapping idly at as though it was nothing.

Shit.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“Should I…not be in here?” Roy asked at last, unable to bear the silent scrutiny. Something flickered over Miss Riza’s face, too fleeting for him to read.

“You aren’t forbidden from entering this room,” she answered in that careful, quiet way of hers.

“Okay.” Fine, but still not helpful. He tried again. “What I meant was: does it bother you that I’m in here?”

“Why should it?” was the reply. Darn her and her habit of answering questions with questions.

“Never mind,” Roy mumbled with a little head shake. He rose and moved towards the chair where he’d left his coat. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve been around a piano; I just couldn’t resist touching it. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“I never said that you disturbed me,” Riza replied softly. Unsure whether he’d heard her correctly, Roy glanced back at her with one hand still reaching for his jacket. She had drawn her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, but she was still watching him carefully.

“No. I suppose you didn’t,” he said slowly, letting his hand fall again. He wanted to ask her a dozen different questions, but he’d already seen how well _that_ worked with this girl, and he remembered his sisters’ advice.

“ _Let her come to you_ ,” their letter had said. “ _Let her initiate conversations when she feels comfortable, and follow her lead on the tone and the pace. And for pity’s sake stop talking about cooking and cleaning!_ ” That last point had stung a bit—he’d panicked!  Either way, though, it was Miss Riza’s turn to speak, Roy thought. So he waited.

As he’d hoped, and his sisters had predicted, his silence encouraged her to elaborate.

“I didn't expect to find you in here,” she began, and paused.  _It’s not someplace a boy your age would normally want to be…It’s not someplace the students usually go…It’s **my** parlor, get out and leave me alone already…What made you come in here anyway? _

Roy couldn’t be certain _which_ thing she wanted to say, but he could tell that she wasn’t exactly saying what was on her mind, and that she wanted to know what he was doing here. Before the pause stretched out interminably, he decided to answer her unspoken question.

“The door was open. It's not usually, so I was curious,” he offered, shrugging. Of course, she had no way to know about his ‘sisters,’ and Roy felt a little shy admitting that he’d been drawn to the room because it reminded him of the girls back home. Instead, he simply added: “It’s...pretty. This room, I mean.” Miss Hawkeye’s face softened a little.

“It was my mother’s,” she stated. Never mind that any idiot should be able to guess as much. She was telling him something, voluntarily, that was clearly very important to her.

“Did she play, then?” he asked, nodding towards the piano.

“Yes,” Riza said quietly. “She was going to teach me,” she added, almost as an afterthought.  And then, surprising even herself, she continued, “But then she got sick and stopped playing, so...well. I never learned.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy said. And he really was. After a slightly awkward pause, he moved towards her impulsively. “And now I feel like a jerk. I didn’t know it was an important memento of your mom; I won’t touch it again, okay?”

“I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” she frowned a little and tightened her arms around her knees.

“I know. You’re much too nice a person for that. But I’m sorry all the same.” Riza blinked up at him in surprise. Roy plunged on ahead. “Would you mind terribly if I came in here sometimes? Not to play, but just to sit and read?”

“Father already told you that you can go where you’d like--” she started to say, looking away.

“Yes, I remember. But would YOU mind it, if I came in here?” he persisted, smiling when her eyes flicked back to his. “I can tell it’s a place you like, too. I don’t want to get in your way.”

“No,” she answered, after a brief pause. “I wouldn’t mind. It’s...fine.”

“Thanks,” he said cheerfully, inordinately pleased to have her permission. “Hey, could I see--?” And he took a few steps closer, indicating her perch with a small hand gesture.

She shifted aside so that Roy could sit beside her and look out the large window. The untamed tangle of rose bushes from the front corner of the house was outside, just on the other side of the glass. At this time of year, many of the varieties were still putting forth fat buds. In another month they’d be full blown blooms, a riot of color and scent in the hot summer sun.

“Oh,” he grinned. “Great view.”

“Pretty, aren’t they? The roses were my mother’s, too,” she said quietly.

“There’re so many different kinds,” he marveled, craning his neck to see over the tops of the bushes closest to the window. He’d noticed them before, but he’d never taken the time to really _look_ at them until now.

“My father used to travel quite a bit for his work, before I was born. He brought back all sorts of colors and varieties for her to plant,” Riza explained.

“You should prune them back some, before next spring. They’ll be healthier and bloom a lot more, if you do,” he said. She turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

“One of my aunt’s employees said so, at least,” Roy said, a little sheepishly. “Her family has a flower shop, so she’s always looking after my aunt’s roses and things.”

“I know they’re too tall and…well, scraggly,” she admitted, “but I didn’t like the idea of cutting them back so far.” Roy understood at once.

“You don’t want to harm them.” She nodded. “Tell you what. In my next letter I’ll ask Sophie for advice and see if she can send us a book about caring for roses. It’ll tell us how far to cut and all that, so we won’t damage them by accident.”

“Thank you,” she said with a quiet smile. “I’d like that.”

They sat in comfortable silence until the light grew dim, and both remembered that they still had work to do.

It wasn’t until Roy was preparing for bed that night that his brain caught up with the observations he’d made in the parlor: Miss Riza had _willingly_ left a hiding place, in his presence, in order to talk to him. She might have remained hidden behind the brocade curtains, watching him putter about the parlor, safely hidden from his view until he’d gone away. As she no doubt had done with other hiding spots, at other times, perhaps with other students.

But instead, she had chosen to draw back the heavy fabric, revealed herself and her hiding place, and even spoken to him before he’d spoken to her. Something she’d never have done even a week earlier.

Maybe he was starting to grow on her, after all.

* * *

 

_“I woke up this morning and realized something. Several days have gone by since the last time I saw or spoke to Miss Hawkeye, and I’ve honestly been too busy to even notice. I don’t know whether I should be glad that I’m not dwelling on circumstances outside my control, or worried that I’m starting to turn into a real recluse like sensei…”_

One afternoon, he’d even looked up from his page to find a fresh cup of tea sitting in front of him, with no recollection of how it had gotten there. He’d made a surprised little noise in his throat, thinking of how often he’d seen Hawkeye-sensei do the same thing and marveled at the older man’s lack of awareness. Upon reaching for the steaming cup, he’d caught his teacher’s eye, which had been sparkling with amusement. The older man’s lips had curved upward into a strange little smile, and he’d shaken his head slightly, as if to say: “ _I know; she does it to me all the time_.” But before Roy had been able to comment, Berthold had neatly caught the book out of his hands and proceeded to quiz him on his comprehension of the material. Which he was still struggling with, unfortunately.

In spite of all the rumors of Master Hawkeye being such a tyrannical and impossible-to-please taskmaster, Roy found him to be an extremely patient and encouraging instructor. Berthold explained and re-explained the more difficult concepts, referred Roy to books and passages of books that would help him, and pushed him to delve deeper into the theories and foundations of the science rather than just learning formulas and sigils by rote without understanding them.

“Comprehension, not memorization. That is vital,” he often said. And when Roy failed to solve an equation or came up with the wrong solution on one of his tasks, Berthold did not storm or rage or glower. He didn’t even seem very disappointed. He simply nodded solemnly, gave him another assignment that was similar but not identical, and told Roy to try again.

Certain days were more taxing than others, and Roy left his teacher’s study feeling like his head would explode from sheer frustration. On these days, he often sought solace in physical activity. At first, it had just been long, brisk walks around the estate or into the forest along the northern boundary of the Hawkeye property. Stomping over the fallen twigs and branches there had given him another idea, and with his teacher’s permission he’d taken to splitting logs into firewood to work off his irritation.

Roy was having a hard time picturing either Berthold or Riza out here doing this sort of thing—it was hot, dirty, sweaty work. He was fairly certain that his sensei just used some sort of alchemic reaction to break up the huge chunks of wood normally, unless he simply bartered with his neighbors for their help. Either way, there were plenty of raw materials to work with—large cylindrical sections of soft, fragrant pine and more dense rounds of oak lay in haphazard piles behind the barn.

Roy spent hours splitting the large round sections into manageable pieces, and then stacking cords neatly against the barn, finding that his annoyance and frustration drained away as the sweat poured off his body and the blisters sprang up on his tender hands. The monotony of swinging the axe again and again quieted his racing mind, at least temporarily. He also found that having stiff, aching muscles led to deeper and more restful sleep, rather than hours spent staring at the ceiling and trying desperately _not_ to go over the material in his head while feeling like a hopeless failure for not having mastered it already.

Today had been one of the most difficult days yet, but for some reason chopping and stacking wood was not having its usual calming effect. Deep down, Roy knew that working out his exasperation on the wood, while satisfying, was not doing him any real good. Ignoring his difficulties would not make them vanish, and indulging in his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing would not lead to an epiphany.

Chris had been absolutely correct when she’d said that Roy had never really wanted something badly enough to really give it his all before. He’d always been a bright kid, and things had come almost _too_ easily to him—he had only to _try_ and he succeeded. Now, for the first time in his life, he was actually being challenged. And finding it—well, _challenging_. He was learning what it felt like to really work at something: to follow after his dream until his legs could no longer carry him onward; to dig for it with his own two hands until they bled; to run after it until he had no air left in his lungs. And after all of that—to _want_ it still and keep striving after it.

Roy was only just beginning to feel that alchemy was that dream for him, even if he didn’t yet know how far he was willing to go. Hitting a roadblock so early on was extremely discouraging. And Roy’s usual cheerful spirit floundered in the face of such an impediment.

But the equation wouldn’t solve itself, and he had wasted enough time for one day. So at last, Roy mopped his streaming face on his shirt and headed back.

Though he hadn’t been looking for her, exactly, Roy was pleased when he staggered wearily around the corner of the barn and spotted Miss Riza standing outside near her garden beds. She was…was she throwing something on the ground? Seeds, maybe? No, something bigger, less uniformly shaped. Oh! They were bread crumbs, he realized. She was scattering stale, crumbled bread on the bare earth, and dozens of tiny birds, mostly of the sparrow and finch variety, were fluttering and hopping about her feet. She seemed to be laughing. And… yes, he was sure of it—she was _talking_ to the little birds; he could see her lips moving. But he was still too far away to hear anything other than an indistinct murmur punctuated with soft, girlish laughter.

Well. If that wasn’t sufficient inducement to procrastinate a little longer, then he didn’t know what was.

She spotted him as soon as he started moving in her direction, but she stood her ground. Brushing the last of the crumbs from her hands and shaking her now-empty apron for good measure, she smiled one last time at her feathered companions before raising her eyes to meet Roy’s.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mustang,” she said softly.

“Hey, Miss Hawkeye,” he replied in a somewhat subdued tone. She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment at his unusually melancholic behavior.

“Chopping wood, again?” she asked instead. Roy nodded and stretched his overtaxed arms over his head, wincing a little.

“You’ll have enough to last a decade, if I keep this up,” he said, with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t suppose you have any chores out here you need a hand with?”

“Can’t bear to be indoors on a day like this, Mr. Mustang?” she asked with the faintest trace of amusement.

“No…well, yes, but it’s more that I’m trying to avoid having to think about alchemy for a little while,” he grumbled. Riza’s expression softened a little in understanding.

“I have some weeding to do, in the vegetable beds. I wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands, if you wanted something else to do,” she offered.

“Perfect!” he answered, in an _almost_ cheerful voice.

As Roy was in no mood to chat, and Riza was her usual reticent self, there was very little conversation between them as they worked, except for things like: “Here's an extra pair of gloves, if you'd like,” or “Let me take those for you,” or “Not that one! That’s a carrot!”

After an hour or so of this, Roy was dirtier and more exhausted than ever, but Miss Riza’s vegetable and herb beds were weed-free. He could feel her eyes on him as he stooped to gather the pile of weeds they’d collected, but she only brushed the loose earth off of her gardening gloves and quietly thanked him for his help.

Riza glided away to prepare dinner, while Roy trudged upstairs to clean up. When he returned to the kitchen, he saw with surprise and delight that she’d set a place for herself across from his usual spot at the table. She excused herself only long enough to deliver her father’s portion to his room, and then they sat down to their evening meal together for the first time.

“By the way, I wanted to apologize for ignoring you, the other day,” Roy said, cheered somewhat by his hot shower and the heavily laden plate that Miss Riza had just set in front of him.

“Hm?” she said, absently, sparing him a glance while she filled her own plate.

“A few days ago, in the study,” he clarified. “You brought me tea, and I didn’t even realize until after you were gone. And thanks for that, too, I really needed it.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” she said, tilting her head very slightly to one side. “You seemed pretty engrossed in the material.”

"Yeah, I’ve gotten to a rough part," he admitted, rather sheepishly. "Organic chemistry does not come naturally to me, apparently."

“You’ve started that already?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, about two weeks ago,” he mumbled, stabbing a piece of chicken viciously with his fork.

“You’re doing well, then,” Riza answered. Roy swallowed hastily to keep from spitting his mouthful of chicken and vegetables across the table.

“I—what?” he exclaimed. Doing _well_? How did she figure?

“You must be doing well, or else my father wouldn’t have started such an advanced topic,” she said matter-of-factly. Roy just stared at her in amazement.

“Really?” he asked incredulously.

“Mm-hm. Most of the others don’t get so far in twice the time that you’ve been here,” Riza said, calmly sipping her drink. And if anyone could understand Berthold’s teaching methods, it would be Miss Riza, Roy supposed.

“Huh,” he managed to say. For several minutes, the two children ate in near silence as Roy mulled this idea over in his head. When she put it like that…he was being rather an idiot about all this, wasn’t he? Finally Roy snorted softly and shook his head, setting his utensils down on his empty plate. “I guess I should stop feeling so sorry for myself, huh?”

Riza didn’t reply, but waited patiently for Roy to explain himself.

“I…I’ve rather forgotten, these past couple of days, just how lucky I am. I mean, not everyone has the kind of opportunity I’ve got, and here I am whining because I haven’t mastered something in days that takes most people months or even _years_ to learn…I’ve been feeling a little sorry for myself,” Roy confessed.

Miss Riza didn’t say that she’d noticed, but Roy knew that she had by the way her eyebrows and lips twitched.

“Instead of moping around, I should be trying harder,” he continued, addressing his words to his empty plate while he twisted his napkin in his lap. “I should be making more of an effort to ensure I don’t disappoint sensei and not pouting because I can’t just breeze through everything he has to teach me,” he finished more softly. Looking up at last, Roy saw that Miss Riza was watching him with steady interest.

“He wouldn’t have bothered, if he didn’t know you were capable of learning it,” was her reply. And then she looked away quickly, as though afraid to reveal anything more. Roy hated that she looked nervous. Why should she be nervous? How could he be annoyed when she was complimenting him, anyway? But that was an issue for another day. She was trying to reassure him, and it was working.

He wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand affectionately, as though she was one of his ‘sisters,’ but he refrained. Instead, he cleared his throat and waited until her serious eyes flicked back to his.

“Thanks,” he said softly, with a sincere and warm smile. “I think I’ve mostly got it out of my system now.”

Miss Riza just smiled at him in return, before rising to collect the dishes from the table.

As a matter of fact, Roy did not get any more of his work done that night. He did, however, fall asleep with a smile on his lips and renewed determination in his heart.

* * *

**May 30**

_“You’ll never guess what happened today. It all started when I woke up at an absurdly early hour. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I finally headed downstairs in the hope that Miss Hawkeye would be up and willing to keep me company again…”_

Roy woke several hours earlier than usual, with a vague sense of unease pricking at the edges of his subconscious. After trying and failing to just roll back over and sleep for a bit longer, he finally dragged on some clothes and made his way to the kitchen.

Just as the water began to boil for tea, he heard something—a faint cry. With a shaking hand, he moved the hissing kettle off the flame and listened intently. There! There it was again, a weak cry for help. It was coming from outside! He threw open the door, paused a second to listen, and then darted around the side of the house with his stomach in knots.

Though he ought to have expected it, he was shocked to find Miss Hawkeye lying there in the grass.

She was curled in on herself, and very clearly in pain. Eyes bright with unshed tears, Riza turned her face toward him in a mute and pathetic plea. Roy gasped aloud and ran to her, and her desperate look dissolved into one of mingled relief and anxiety. 

“Omigod, are you all right?” he asked, dropping to the ground at her side. “What happened? Did you fall?” Without waiting for an answer, he reached out to touch her. Riza flinched away from his hand reflexively, and cried out in pain as she jarred her own injury. “Sorry!” Roy exclaimed. “I should've asked...where are you hurt?”

“My shoulder, and my arm,” she whispered.

“Right. OK, here, can you sit up?” He slid a hand beneath her lower back and carefully helped her up to a sitting position. She whimpered very slightly, but bit her lip to keep from crying out again. 

“Here, let me have a look at it,” he said gently, trying to remain calm. She was holding her arm at an odd angle, and it was probably either broken or dislocated. At least there was no blood, and no protruding bone. That had to be a good thing. “Right, okay. Stay right here, Miss Hawkeye, I'm going to go find your father,” he said, starting to rise to his feet.

“NO!” she cried, louder than he'd ever heard her speak before. She looked as surprised as he did, and then she blushed. “I, um, I don't want to disturb him; I'm sure he's busy with his research, if he's even up yet,” she said quickly.

“Disturb—? But—this is a little more important, I'm sure he'd want to know about—”

“Please, if you’d only help me stand up, I’ll just go to the surgeon’s by myself. He’ll know how to fix it,” she pleaded. Roy eyed her uncertainly, and she pressed on. “Then Father won’t have to worry. By the time he wakes up, it will already be taken care of,” she said earnestly, looking directly into Roy’s eyes. He caved.

“A-all right, if you’re sure. I’m coming with you, then,” he said determinedly.

She looked almost as worried about that option as she had been when he mentioned fetching her father. Roy carefully pulled her up by her good arm, and looked grim when she yipped and crashed against him.

“Um-hm. I don’t think you’ll be walking there all by yourself on a sprained ankle. Come on, you can lean on me and we’ll go together. I don’t suppose any of the neighbors have a pony or anything we could borrow?” She shook her head, clearly chagrined. “Oh, well. Can’t be helped. Come on, I won’t bite you,” he teased her lightly when she hesitated. She blushed and lowered her head, trying to hide her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, Mr. Mustang,” she said.

“Well, of course I don’t HAVE to do anything; no one’s forcing me...” he smiled crookedly at her. “But I’d like to help you. If you’ll let me, that is.”

“Really, I’ll manage just fine on my own,” she protested again, more weakly this time.

“On that ankle? I mean, technically I suppose you could, but why torture yourself? I'm sure you’d manage it alone somehow if you _had_ to, although it’d be pretty rough…you’ll only hurt your foot more if you try to walk on it, you know.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she said quietly. Roy looked down at her with mingled pity and surprise.

"You’re not a burden at all. That’s what friends do, help each other when they’re down," he smiled. It was Riza’s turn to look surprised.

“Friends?” Roy flushed a little.

“Well, _I’d_ like for us to be friends, but I’ll still help you regardless of what you think of me,” he replied with an embarrassed little shrug.

“Then, if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble…I would appreciate your help, Mr. Mustang,” she finally managed. Roy beamed. 

“We’d better get going; it’s a long walk. The doctor lives close to the train station, right?”

“Yes.”

She limped along all right for the first mile or so, but Roy could tell that she was trying not to lean too much on him.

“Think you can hold on to me with only one arm?” he asked, eyeing a nearby fence. “You could ride piggyback.”

“I...I don’t think so,” Riza grimaced slightly, cradling her arm to her chest. “It really hurts to move it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for something like that,” he scolded. Geez, this girl. “Here, let me try this for a while, then,” and he literally swept her off her feet. She squeaked in shock, but found that her good arm was the one around his neck, and the bad arm was cradled against her chest just as before.

“Oh!  I—um. Are you sure this is all right?” she asked, embarrassed.

“I’m all right if you are,” he replied. “This way at least we aren’t making your ankle worse by putting weight on it.” He walked faster carrying her than they had been moving with her hobbling on the bad ankle, and he covered the remaining distance in no time. 

The look on the doctor's face was pretty priceless when he looked up from his morning coffee to see a strange boy approaching his door while carrying that _particular_ young girl in his arms. He managed to compose himself by the time they reached the door, which he hastened to open for them.

“What’s all this, Miss Hawkeye?” the doctor said cheerfully, looking at her with an experienced eye. “Hm, anterior shoulder dislocation, I see.  And is there something wrong with her leg as well?”

“I think it might be a sprained ankle, sir,” Roy said deferentially. “It hurt her to put weight on it, but she hadn’t noticed anything wrong until she tried to stand.”

“No, I rather imagine not, when she had that shoulder to worry about,” the doctor answered. “All right, Miss Hawkeye, don’t you fret. We’ll fix you right up. Young man, if you would be so kind? This way, please,” he said, and led the way into his exam room. Roy followed with Riza, whom he set carefully down on the exam table as the doctor requested.

The doctor ran gentle fingers over her arm and shoulder, nodding and clucking when she inhaled sharply. “I see. You’re a very brave girl not to cry, my dear; I know how much pain you must be in.” He searched a cabinet nearby, and came out with a syringe and a vial.

Catching sight of Riza’s wide and frightened eyes, Roy moved a little closer to the exam table. He recognized the signs; Ada had a needle phobia as well. Riza gripped his sleeve with her good hand, which he patted reassuringly as she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. The doctor jabbed her quickly, explaining as he did so:

“This is just a local anesthetic. We’re going to have to get that shoulder back into place, and this will help with the pain. When you leave, dear, we’ll send you home with some pain medication as well.” Turning to Roy, whose hand was still resting on Riza’s, he added, “I’m sure we can trust you to look after her and ensure she takes them, er—?”

“Roy Mustang, sir. And yes, sir, I’ll take care of her,” he said firmly. The doctor grinned. He liked this kid’s spunk.

“Good man. Now, could you just run along to the tea shop and bring me my nurse? She’s a plump blonde woman wearing a lab coat; I’ll need her assistance for this next part. In the meantime, my dear, let’s take a look at that ankle,” he said, looking back at Riza.

By the time Roy and the nurse returned, the doctor had wrapped Miss Hawkeye’s ankle tightly. “This should heal up in a week or so,” he was saying. “Just try to stay off of it as much as possible. Ah, Mr. Mustang. Could you wait outside for just a moment, please? I think our patient might prefer some privacy while we attend to this next bit.”

Roy blinked in confusion, but caught on a second later when the kind-faced nurse started to unbutton Miss Hawkeye’s dress. Roy promptly flushed and made himself scarce.

From the waiting room, he could hear the soothing murmurs of the nurse, the lower rumbles of the doctor’s voice, and twice, heart rending cries from the younger girl. He chewed his lip, wondering what his teacher would say when he learned of his daughter’s injuries. What had she been doing, anyway? It looked like she’d fallen out of the tree she’d been lying under, but what was she doing climbing it in the first place? It’s not like Miss Riza was the type who climbed trees just for fun...or was she? She didn’t _seem_ to be. He wondered whether she’d answer if he asked her outright.

After what felt like hours, the doctor emerged with Riza, whose arm was now in a sling.

“Miss Hawkeye tells me the two of you walked all the way here from her father’s house?” he said, with one eyebrow raised in query.

“Yes, sir,” he started to answer. “Hawkeye-sensei doesn’t keep a horse, and so we—”

“That’s not right, Doctor James,” Riza interrupted, her voice shy and sleepy. “ _Mr_. _Mustang_ walked the whole way here; I was carried. But itzokay, cuz he’s not like any of _them_.” The doctor chuckled a little.

“Ah, the pain pills must be kicking in,” he said in an aside to Roy. “She’ll probably be a bit out of it for a while,” he said, and passed a small bottle to Roy. “Give them to her every six to eight hours as needed for pain. She’ll be good as new in a couple weeks; the sprain wasn’t too bad. Now, I know she’s a little stubborn, but try to keep her off that ankle as much as possible, won’t you, son?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best, sir,” Roy answered, reaching out to stabilize the girl, who had swayed slightly.

“Now, I don’t doubt a strong lad like yourself could carry Miss Hawkeye the whole way home as well, but why don’t you let me give you kids a lift instead?” he said kindly, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Thank you, sir, that would be great,” Roy replied.

They piled into the doctor’s old truck, settling Riza between them on the long bench seat. Before the truck had even made it out of the driveway, she’d closed her eyes and laid her head on Roy's shoulder. A bit pleased, Roy chose to accept it as a sign that she trusted him enough to relax, even if it was only because she was exhausted and loopy from the pills.

When the truck pulled up to the Hawkeye estate, the doctor peered through the windshield. He fixed questioning eyes on the windows of the upper floor that belonged to the master of the house.

“I suppose Berthold must be at a delicate phase of his _research_ if he sent his apprentice to escort his daughter, rather than bring her to me himself,” the doctor said casually. Roy recognized the fishing tactic; his aunt was an expert at leading questions like those. He didn’t resent it, as he knew the man was more concerned for the Miss Hawkeye's well-being than anything else.

“Hawkeye-sensei doesn’t even know that she got hurt yet,” he answered honestly. “I’m the one who heard her calling out, and we both thought it would be best to get her medical attention right away. Actually,” he hesitated, and glanced down at his pocket watch with a furrowed brow. “Sensei _may_ still be sleeping at this hour. He’s a bit of a night owl, you see, so sometimes he’s not up until almost noon. I’ll wake him as soon as she’s settled and explain everything, sir.”

The doctor pursed his lips but didn’t say anything else, satisfied but not altogether pleased with the explanation. Roy opened the door, and Riza drowsily started to jump down after him. He caught her around the waist, preventing her from landing on her bad ankle just before her feet hit the ground.

“Whoa, easy now, Miss Hawkeye,” he chided, and laughed a little at the cute frown she gave him. “Thank you very much, doctor. We appreciate all your help,” he said, and managed a small bow to the old doctor even with the girl leaning heavily on him.

“You take good care of her, son,” Dr. James replied.

“I will. I promise, sir,” Roy replied solemnly.

The good doctor watched as Roy guided his patient to the doorway, and waited until they’d fumbled indoors before driving slowly away.

“Hmm.  You may be right, my dear Riza,” he said softly to himself. “This boy might be different after all.”

Roy paused at the bottom of the stairs, daunted. 

“Let’s just hope sensei doesn’t get the wrong idea and light my ass on fire,” he mumbled, eyeing the increasingly delirious girl wavering beside him. Somehow carrying her upstairs seemed a lot more awkward when he considered that he might run into her father. Whose express instructions had been to leave his daughter alone, if he recalled correctly.

“What’s all this?” a harsh voice from behind him rang out.

Roy froze, horrified. Before he could speak, Riza raised her head from off his shoulder.

“Hi, Papa,” she said affectionately. The glower on Berthold’s face faltered as she beamed up at him, but his sharp eyes lingered on the sling on her arm and the bandage on her ankle.

“What happened, child?” he asked in a slightly softer tone. But she had already closed her eyes again. Roy staggered slightly as she went limp against him.

Without further ado, Hawkeye darted forward and gathered his daughter into his arms, cradling her as though she was made of glass. He brushed past Roy and glided rapidly up the stairs, betraying a level of fitness Roy had not suspected him to be capable of.

Over his shoulder, he simply said, “Wait for me in my study, please.”

Heart pounding, Roy slunk down the hallway toward the warmth and light of the library. Sitting on the very edge of his favorite armchair there, he wondered whether he was about to be sent packing. Surely, he’d be given a chance to explain first, right? Or had it been little things like this that had lost the other apprentices their places?

After all, of the few rules his teacher had given him, number one had been not to bother his daughter...and here she was, obviously injured and acting like she was drunk or something, with her dress all rumpled and dirty...of course his teacher would be suspicious. Any father would! And after all of his resolve and hard work, and his aunt's careful arrangements, he’d be sent packing for failing to be cautious of his conduct.

Anxious and sick, Roy hung his head.

“Mr. Mustang,” Hawkeye said behind him. Roy jumped. He hadn’t even heard the man approaching. How the hell did those two move so quietly? “My daughter tells me that you accompanied her to the doctor this morning,” the older man continued.

“I—um, yes, sir. I did,” Roy stammered.

“I thank you for looking after her. Due to the nature of her injuries, I must ask you to see to your own meals for the next several days, as she will need her rest while she recovers.”

Speechless, Roy could only watch his teacher cross his room and sit behind his desk. Hawkeye reached for a heavy text that had been sitting off to one side.

“Now then, here is the treatise on microbiology I promised to find for you. I would like for you to finish reading this by next week so that we can incorporate it into your lesson.” He raised an eyebrow when the boy simply gaped at him. “Is something the matter?”

“I—I just...I mean, I thought…you aren’t angry with me?” he said, numbly accepting the book from his teacher’s still outstretched hands.

“Should I be?” The older man replied, the slightest hint of amusement showing in his eyes. Roy struggled to gather his thoughts.

“Well, I was afraid that you, er, that you might think that I’d—,” he stumbled over the words. “I mean, Miss Hawkeye was hurt pretty badly, and with whatever the doctor gave her for the pain, she wasn’t exactly coherent when we came in just now, and...” he trailed off nervously, unsure of how to proceed. His teacher saved him the trouble.

“If I thought you were responsible in any way for her injuries, you would not still be standing here,” Berthold said coolly. A shiver ran down Roy's spine. “Given her current state, it is very clear that your assistance to my daughter was invaluable. I am grateful to you,” he finished in a slightly gentler tone.

“Anyone would have done the same in my place, sir,” Roy said humbly. “I’d have done as much for any of my own sisters.” Though his head was slightly bowed, he caught a calculating look in his teacher's eyes, and wondered what it meant. After a moment, the older man spoke again.

"We have much to work on today. You may go now, my boy." 

Permission granted thus, Roy quickly escaped to the solitude of his own room. He glanced back over his shoulder as he slipped out of the door to see his teacher’s head already bent over his work. 

It wasn’t until he pulled off his coat and heard a clattering sound that he realized he’d forgotten to tell anyone about the pain pills the doctor had left him. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, he pocketed the bottle again and glanced at the clock. He’d just take them in to her when it was time to take another dose. Finally, he settled down with his book to study.

 

Exactly six hours later, Roy carefully balanced a tray in his hands and hesitated outside of Miss Hawkeye's closed bedroom door. What if she was sleeping? He couldn't just let himself into a girl’s room without her permission, regardless of his intentions. He’d learned THAT the hard way with his sisters, years ago. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, and was faintly relieved to hear a weak voice call out in response.

“Yes?”

Roy pushed the door open. For a moment, Miss Hawkeye just blinked at him while he stood awkwardly in the doorway, and then her eyes focused on the tray in his hand. Confusion stamped all over her face, she made a move to sit up in her bed, but immediately winced and grabbed her shoulder. 

“Easy.” He hastily set the tray on the nightstand beside her bed and reached for her. “Huh, dèja vu,” he chuckled. “Here, let me help you...” He helped her settle against her pillows in a more comfortable position, noting as he did that she looked slightly feverish. She turned bright, glassy eyes on him, questioning silently what he wanted.

“Oh, er, here,” he said, gesturing to the tray he’d brought in. “This is the medicine the doc gave me for you. And, well, pills usually go down easier when you have a bit of food on your stomach, so I brought you some miso soup,” he fussed with the glass of water and the pills on the tray, feeling a little foolish.

He’d been hoping that she would think a little better of him, now. Their last few conversations had certainly been more cordial than their earliest ones, and she’d even trusted him to help her when she’d needed someone…but being here in her room right now, there was more tension than ever between them. 

Maybe that was part of it, he realized. Though the circumstances were outside of her control, she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him, which was something she’d very carefully avoided up until now.

Roy cleared his throat and straightened up, preparing to leave. “It's not much, but it's a kind of broth my aunt always makes whenever anyone is sick. It’s really light, so if you’re hungry for anything else, just tell me and I'll do my best to make it.”

“Thank you, but please—you needn’t trouble yourself over me,” she murmured, eyes lowered. 

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, his smile faltering a bit. Was he just making things worse by forcing his way in here? Maybe Claire was right and he should just leave her alone; give her some space. After all, Riza had been taking care of both her father and herself for years, and she might resent his trying to wrest control of the situation. He edged towards the door.

“I don't really **have** to take the pills, do I?” Riza asked, in a small voice that made her sound like a much younger girl. Roy paused.

“Well, if you really don't want to, then I guess you don’t have to,” he mused. “But doesn't your shoulder hurt? Or your ankle?" he asked, incredulous. "The pills are meant to help with the pain. Why don’t you want them?"

“It's...it’s just that the ones before made me feel strange,” she said, frowning a little.

“Oh, right. You seemed a little out of it, and the doc mentioned that they’d probably make you sleepy,” he said. Color bloomed in her pale cheeks. Roy hid a smile.

“I can’t just lie in bed all day; there are things I should be doing,” she said, her fingers plucking nervously at her comforter.

“And that’s probably why he gave you these,” Roy chuckled. “You shouldn't be doing _anything_ with your ankle and shoulder all busted like that. He wanted you to rest, so that you heal faster.”

Roy held out the bottle of pills and the glass of water. Riza glared at them, a slight pout on her face. Gosh, but she was cute with her lower lip sticking out like that. After a moment, he softened.

“What if we make a deal?” he offered.

“What kind of deal?” she said warily, clutching her bedclothes and shrinking slightly away from him. Damn it. He wasn’t just imagining it, he was sure this time. Slowly, he set the glass back on the tray. What on earth was with these trust issues of hers? What did she think he was going to ask her to do?

“Just this: you don't have to take any pills, but in exchange, you promise to stay quietly in your room, and not to do any chores for the next couple of days,” Roy said. “That way, I’m not really breaking my promise to Dr. James, and you’re still taking it easy and letting your body heal. Come on, what do you say?”

She looked at him like he’d just grown wings. “You—just want me to rest? That’s it?”

Seriously, what had she expected him to say? Roy frowned a little.

“Well...yeah,” he said. “Because I told the doc I’d look after you, remember? Oh, I guess you wouldn’t, if you were already asleep by then," he grinned, and her eyes flashed, which amused him even more than the pink cheeks.

He was really starting to enjoy getting a reaction out of her. And she was starting to get worse at hiding her reactions from him.

“And besides, I’m sure the chores can wait until you’re feeling better. I’ll even help you, if you want, after lessons. I did okay with the weeding, right? I mean, after I figured out which ones were the carrots…”

Riza opened her mouth, as though to protest, and then shut it again. Roy grinned, and put out his hand.

 “Deal?” Slowly, she extended her good arm.

 “Deal,” she echoed, softly. And she shook his hand solemnly.

* * *

 

**May 31, 12:24 am**

_“I left a bit after that so I could get to work on that microbiology text sensei brought for me, and when dinner time came around I attempted to make beef stew for sensei and myself. We both missed Miss Riza’s usual skill in the kitchen. Even if sensei forgets to eat half the time, the man knows decent cooking when he tastes it, and I’m a poor substitute for his daughter._

_I took Miss Riza some, too, but she’d fallen back asleep by then, so I don’t know what she thought of it or whether she even ate it…but I mean to check on her again before I go to bed to see if she needs anything else. She must hate being stuck up in her room all day like this. The sooner she’s back on her feet the better. (And **not** just because I can only make about three dishes that are even remotely edible!)”_

Massaging the muscle cramps in his hand, Roy tiptoed down the hall to check on Miss Hawkeye one last time. Finding her asleep, he gently tugged the novel out of her slack hands and set it on the nightstand, careful to mark her place with the bookmark. Before turning off her lamp, he studied her thoughtfully, struck by what a pretty picture she made.

At some point she’d changed into a lacey pink nightgown, a feminine frivolity which amused Roy because he hadn’t expected it from such a serious girl. Even with her short hair disarranged from sleep, Riza bore more than a passing resemblance to a porcelain doll with her pink nightie, rosy lips, and ivory skin. She really was awfully cute like this, Roy thought with a smile.

He started to reach for the light again, stealing one last glance at the sleeping girl. But it occurred to him that as cute as she was, Miss Hawkeye’s flushed cheeks were just a little **too** pink to be altogether healthy.

Without stopping to think, Roy gently brushed Miss Riza’s hair away from her forehead and laid his hand on the exposed skin. Rather warm, he mused, but not exactly burning up, either. A low grade fever, then, but since she wasn’t shivering or sweating, it was probably all right. Just as he removed his hand and straightened up again, Riza stirred.

“Papa?” she murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on the boy standing over her. “Oh, it’s Mr. Mustang,” she amended, blinking sleepily up at him.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Did I wake you? I was just going to turn out your light,” he explained a little anxiously. Had she felt his hand on her forehead? He really shouldn’t have done that; suppose she’d taken offence?

“No, it’s all right,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I feel like I’ve been asleep most of the day, anyway. What time is it?” Roy consulted his pocket watch.

“Half past twelve,” he announced. Her face fell. “What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing,” she mumbled, looking away. She couldn’t be feeling well, he thought. Aside from the two bright pink cheeks, the rest of her face was several shades paler than usual, and her eyes looked glassy.

“So, how's your shoulder feeling?” he asked.

“It's still sore, but better than it was,” she replied, shifting a little against her pillows with a little half-grimace. “My ankle hurts the most, at the moment.”

“Ah, maybe you should have taken those pills, after all,” Roy suggested.

“Maybe. If only they didn’t make my head feel so funny,” she sighed. “I don’t like feeling all…floaty like that.” Roy hid a smile.

“Hey, I was gonna head down to make some tea; d’you want anything? Hot cocoa or water or something?”

“Tea sounds nice; if you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Be right back,” he said brightly.

He returned ten minutes later bearing a hastily thrown together tray laden with teapot, cups, sugar bowl and a plate of buttered toast, each golden piece liberally sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

“Just in case you’re hungry,” he grinned when he saw her notice the triangles of cinnamon toast. She hesitated for just a moment, and then took one while Roy poured out the tea. “Sugar?”

“Please,” she said, watching him add a heaping spoonful to her cup. She accepted it with a murmur of thanks, and Roy took a moment to drag an armchair from the corner of her room so that he could sit beside her while they shared the midnight snack.

“This is…odd,” Riza said suddenly.

“What, you never had a midnight tea party in bed before?” Roy quipped, licking a crumb off his lip.

“Well…no,” she answered, smiling a little.

“You’ve been missing out, then,” he said cheekily. They munched their toast in silence for a moment, and then Roy set his cup in its saucer with a little _clink_ and cleared his throat. “So…I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Promise you’ll answer honestly, okay?”

“Okay...” she said slowly, the tiny smile fading away. Roy looked earnestly and steadily into her eyes.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance and I’m pretty sure your father would skin me alive if he thought I was doing anything to upset you. So I thought I should probably just ask you straight out: am I annoying you?”

“Oh!” she said, clearly caught off guard.

“Not just with this,” he hastened on, gesturing at the cups and now empty plate of toast. “But in general, I mean. I’m not forcing you to endure my company or anything, am I?”

“No, not at all,” Riza replied quietly. “You aren’t annoying me at all.”

“It’s okay if I am, or if I do at some point. You just say the word and I’ll leave you alone,” Roy continued. And then he flashed his brilliant smile at her. “But now I'm making you uncomfortable by talking about it, and you’re already feeling ill. Is the tea all right?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” she said softly. “And, while we’re on the subject…I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly earlier, for helping me get to the doctor and everything.” She toyed with her teacup, choosing her words carefully. “You were very kind, to go through all that trouble on my account. I appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t trouble at all,” he insisted. “Anyone else would have done the same.”

“No. They really wouldn’t,” Riza replied, with a little shake of her head. “Anyway…thank you.” Roy shrugged, beginning to feel a bit embarrassed.

Really, what kind of jerk would he have to be, to find an injured, helpless girl lying on the ground at his feet, only to walk away and just leave her there? _Oh, you’re hurt and can’t get up? Gee, that’s too bad. Well, see ya around; I’ve got sigils to study!_  

“Um, you’re welcome,” he mumbled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I was glad to be able to do something for you for a change. You're always doing so much for _my_ benefit.” She blinked at him.

And then, to his surprise and mortification, she giggled. But she sobered quickly when she saw his expression.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” she explained anxiously.  “It’s just that—no one has ever said that to me.”

“Really?” he asked, incredulous. None of the other students noticed or appreciated that she made all the meals, and did all the laundry and the cleaning, and…just about everything else besides the actual teaching around here?

“Most of my father’s students just ignore me entirely,” she reminded him. “And...I never minded that before.”

Roy had the feeling she’d just admitted something extremely personal.

“Would you rather that I ignore you, too?” he asked softly.

“Oh, no! I-I mean...” Riza stammered, confused.

Ah-ha! So she _did_ care. At least a little bit.

“All right then,” he smiled, encouraged.  “Anyway, **_I_** appreciate all the stuff you do around here,” he said quickly, looking down at his teacup. Although she hadn’t really been laughing at him before, Roy’s ego still stung a bit from the imagined blow. “I meant what I said before, about wanting us to be friends,” he continued, as nonchalantly as he possibly could. “So…so just tell me if I do anything that bothers you, okay?”

He risked a glance at her face and found her watching him with something like tenderness in her expression. Her lips curved slowly upwards when he met her eyes.

“Okay,” she answered softly.

Really, Roy should’ve known better. But it had been such an important and noteworthy event, disrupting their usual routine as it had…how could he not write about it in great detail? In the end, he had taken up nearly five full pages (front AND back) with his tiny, neat handwriting, telling them all about it in as much detail as he could recall.

He hadn’t even thought about how his “sisters” would react; he was far too caught up in the story he was telling to be self-conscious about his role in it. If he’d read it over when he’d been a bit calmer, Roy would have realized, perhaps, what kind of scene he was offering up to their scrutiny:  A young man literally sweeping an injured young girl into his arms and carrying her to help and safety…willing to risk the wrath of her formidable father in order to assist her…using duty as an excuse to check up on her…admitting that he was glad to have this opportunity to get a little closer to her.

Was it any wonder that Chris’s girls were beside themselves when they’d read the letter?

Chris herself merely smiled her usual secretive smile as the girls giggled madly and gossiped and asked each other pointed questions.

 _This is getting more and more interesting by the day,_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris's girls are named for and based on several fictional characters I'm fond of. If you're curious and don't feel like searching for the original chapter over on ff.net, let me know and I'll edit this note to explain where they all came from :)


	4. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which General Grumman is totally busted, Chris reveals her soft squishy underbelly, Riza breaks everyone's heart with the foreshadow-i-est of lines, and then reveals a previously hidden sarcasm and wit, surprising and delighting Roy.

**June 5**

When the Brigadier General next slipped into her bar, Chris automatically walked up to her office to fetch the packet of letters. But she stood there silently, with one hand on the handle of her open desk drawer, staring down at the neat packet for several long minutes. 

So far Chris had kept her opinions about Grumman’s interest in this man, this alchemist Berthold Hawkeye, to herself. She wondered now whether to speak to Grumman as the old friend he was, or as the client with whom she maintained a solid professional relationship.

Either way, she thought, picking up the packet, it was time that she cleared a few things up.

“You’re a bit early this week, old man,” she murmured as she set his drink down. “My girls haven’t finished squabbling over the last letter yet.” Grumman just smiled up at her.

“What, I can’t come in without an ulterior motive?” he said cheekily. She just raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed. “All right, you caught me. I find the boy a very capable storyteller. I feel like I’m waiting for the latest installment of some weekly periodical story.”

“It is a rather interesting read, isn’t it?” Chris chuckled, settling into the seat beside him. “This week’s letter is a particularly fat one, too. The girls are having kittens over it.” She paused, dark eyes steady on his. “Apparently the young girl had a nasty little accident.”

“Accident?” Grumman echoed, much more sharply than he’d intended. Those dark eyes bored into him, and he made a concerted effort to collect himself. “Is—are the children all right?”

“No permanent damage. But it’s quite an exciting story, I don’t want to ruin it for you,” she said slowly, taking in every bead of sweat and every twitch of his mustache.

Damn it, she knew. How could she _not_ know?

“Very good of you, my dear,” he replied, with _almost_ his usual suavity.

“Tell me, Brigadier General,” Chris all but purred. “Does any of this have to do with Tereza?”

Fuck.

Grumman’s fingers tightened around his glass.

“How long have you known?” he asked with quiet defeat. Chris took pity on him.

“Since the first letter, or very nearly.” He let out a humorless laugh. Of course she had.

“How?” he asked, still staring into his drink. Might as well learn where the weak flank was for future reference.

“As soon as my brat mentioned that a young female relative was living there as well, I realized that she had to be the one you really wanted intel about,” Chris admitted.

“I must be slipping,” Grumman murmured. “I should have known better than to underestimate you.”

“True,” she said simply. “But in any event, it struck me that you’d wanted an inside man roughly the same age as the girl all along. Naturally he’d notice her and be likely to talk about her without additional prompting. Otherwise, you’d have gone yourself and made the usual State Alchemist recruitment offer, even knowing it would be refused. Or sent one of the girls with a plausible cover story and let her try to charm information out of him that you needed. But those options wouldn’t have suited your purposes half so well, because it was the alchemist’s daughter, not the alchemist, whom you were interested in.”

Grumman nodded but did not speak. No point hiding it now.

“So, I asked myself why,” she continued. “And then I ran into an old friend of mine who used to work with the registrar’s office in Central. He still has a few useful contacts, and pulling a few marriage and birth records was simple enough.”

One thing about Madame, she didn't gloat. Nor was she malicious.

“He’ll keep what he learned to himself, Grumman,” she added quietly. “He doesn’t have any reason to believe that it’s sensitive information, but he knows very well that I could destroy him if anything leaks without my consent.”

Grumman bit his lip, hard.

As a matter of fact, there were several important men who were very lucky that Chris wasn't the blackmailing type, Grumman thought. She might sell information to the authorities at exorbitant prices, but she never used personal information against a man for monetary gain…she was not the sort of woman to threaten to send incriminating photos to a jealous wife, for example. She considered that kind of extortion beneath her, regardless of what her personal thoughts on the matter might be. And it was this little code of honor of hers that ensured she had plenty of favors at her scarlet-lacquered fingertips.

“I—I knew she’d had a child, but beyond that…” he stopped, annoyed by the thickness of his own voice. Fighting against the thrall of his overwhelming emotion, Grumman tried to breathe in and out slowly, but even Madame could hear that the breath stuttered in his chest.

“Take your time,” she said gently. She placed her hand on his forearm for the briefest of moments, letting him know that she understood the reason for his deception, and that she wasn't angry with him.

“I just…needed to be sure that the girl was safe and happy,” he began slowly.

“Your granddaughter?”

“Yes. The only family I have left, now.”

“You’ve never met her?”

“No. My daughter and I were not exactly on speaking terms when she had the child. You see, I never liked the man my daughter married, and not just because she went against my wishes when she ran off and eloped with him. Bad enough that he was ten years her senior, but even that I didn’t mind so much.”

“Nothing wrong with being an alchemist with family money, either,” Chris mused, recalling their first conversation about Berthold Hawkeye. “So it was his personality that rubbed you the wrong way?” Grumman raised his glass in a silent, sarcastic salute.

“From the moment we met,” he said, and tossed back half his drink in one go. “I could see right off that he was a cold, hard sort of man, and I was afraid that his cool reserve would break Tereza’s generous and sunny spirit. She was such a demonstrative girl; very affectionate and warm. Effervescent. But as for  _him_...the man was just so damn  _stoical_. But Terri was so young, and so headstrong, and she kept insisting that they were in love...In the end, it didn’t matter, anyway. It wasn’t lack of affection that took my daughter’s life.”

He swallowed the rest of his drink and took a moment to compose himself. Madame kindly pretended not to notice the tears that he was fighting to blink away.

“Anyway,” he said at last. “I knew that she’d had a child before her death, a little girl.” And the ghost of a smile graced his thin lips. Chris assumed he was imagining what Riza Hawkeye looked like; whether she resembled her mother in spite of the shorter hair and dark brown eyes her nephew had so carefully described. “And...it occurred to me that I might take the girl from him by force if I wanted to. But first I needed to know more about her and what their home life was like.”

“And if she was unhappy, or the financial situation was too bleak...” Chris began.

“Then I’d offer to take her off his hands, so to speak,” Grumman nodded. “I still don’t know what to do. Hawkeye seems to be the same cold-hearted bastard that he always was. An emotionless machine devoted only to his damn alchemy. Maybe even worse, now, without my Terri to soften his edges.”

“And yet the child seems to care for him a great deal,” Chris argued gently. “That sort of devotion comes from somewhere, doesn’t it? It can’t be maintained indefinitely without some spark of affection to keep it alight.”

“I know. That's why I’m still so unsure of my next step, Chris. I want to do what’s best for my granddaughter.”

“I will say this: in spite of his apparent coldness, I believe that her father loves her. And that he wants the best for her, too.”

“What proof of that do you have?” he said, somewhat bitterly. Chris shook her head.

“You’ll have to read between the lines of my nephew’s last letter, old man. Putting that aside for a moment, are you afraid to take the girl in? To raise her as your own?”

“Only afraid that it would do more harm than good. I don’t know whether hauling her off to live with a strange old man would be the right choice. Even if her father was willing to give her up and she was willing to come, I’d be uprooting her, forcing her to change her whole lifestyle, thrusting her into a life she’s never known…”

“It would be very difficult for her at first, to be sure,” Chris said thoughtfully. “She’s a very shy and sheltered child, and to be put into a public school, or a boarding school, whatever you like, would be a very great culture shock for her. On the other hand, she doesn’t have many friends where she is now, and it might be a good thing to see more of the world rather than stay locked in her ivory tower in the country.”

“That's just it though…she’s at a delicate age. She doesn’t know me, and she’d have no one to confide in about her troubles. She wouldn’t be able to hide or retreat. She’d be thrown to the wolves in a city public school like that; exposed and made to perform in ways she never has before…wouldn’t that damage her?”

“I don't know. How could we ever be sure?” Chris wondered, pursing her lips a little. Grumman noticed that she'd said ‘we’ and not ‘you.’ Did that mean she’d taken an interest in this child’s welfare as well?

“I wouldn't even have to have his consent. I could fabricate the proof necessary to declare him an unfit parent; there are several judges who owe me favors…I could have myself appointed her legal guardian by tomorrow if I wanted to,” he admitted.

“Would you want to?” Chris countered.

“If my wife were still alive, Chris, it wouldn’t even be a question,” Grumman sighed. “We’d have had the child the moment her mother had died. But as things are now…”

“You’re afraid history will repeat itself, somehow. Or that the girl will resent you for taking her from her father?”

“Yes. I don’t know what to do with a girl. Look at what happened to Tereza—I’d destroyed any chance I had at a relationship with my own daughter by the time she was old enough to talk. She couldn’t wait to get away from me.”

“That’s not entirely true, is it, old man?” Chris asked gently. Grumman slumped in his stool and sighed.

“I honestly don’t know, some days,” he replied softly. Chris studied him for a moment. It was odd and difficult too, in a way, to see him laid bare like this.

“I wish I had an easy answer for you, my friend,” Chris sighed. “But I will tell you this: you need to read those letters, and then you need to come back in a few days to collect the letter my girls are currently holding hostage. And then you can decide for yourself whether Berthold Hawkeye is really the cold-hearted bastard he seems to be on the surface.”

 She rose and poured him a generous measure of the expensive brandy he favored. And then she glided away with a rustle of silk, leaving Grumman staring down at the packet of letters on the glossy surface of her bar.

He was gone, and the letters with him, before she’d made it to the end of the room.

* * *

 

**June 7**

For nearly a week after Miss Riza’s injury, Roy did everything in his power to ensure that she didn’t put any weight on her damaged ankle. He helped her limp carefully up and down the stairs in the mornings and evenings and checked in on her throughout the day, between bouts of studying. He fetched books and tea and sandwiches and extra pillows as the occasion demanded, making sure that Riza had everything that she could possibly need at her fingertips. He even followed her careful instructions regarding meals, chopping and stirring and sweating over simmering saucepans while Riza fidgeted anxiously on the couch in the parlor and fretted over her confinement.

Roy could sense her growing restlessness as the days went on, and knew without her having to say so that she was starting to feel like a prisoner in her own home. So on the eighth morning, when he came to escort her down stairs, he was unsurprised to find her bedroom vacant.

Naturally, she was in the kitchen, the only concession to her recent injuries being that she was seated at the table rather than cleaning something or puttering about the stove. She smiled shyly at him when he walked in.

“Hey, there. How are you feeling?” he greeted her cheerfully.

“Good morning, Mr. Mustang. I’m much better, thank you.” She nodded in the direction of the stovetop. “I just made hot cocoa, if you want any.”

“Oh, great, thanks,” he said, moving across to the stove to help himself. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be worrying about chores for at least the next few days, Miss Hawkeye?” he said over his shoulder, frowning slightly. She squirmed a little. 

“I couldn't stand another day lying on the couch or stuck up in my room,” she confessed. “But I was really careful coming down the stairs! And my ankle hardly even hurts today.” Roy just smiled as he sat down opposite her with a steaming mug in hand.

“Well that’s something, anyway. The doc said it would be good as new in a couple weeks, so it looks like you’re well on the way.”

“You’re up rather early again,” she noticed. “Weren’t you and Papa both up late last night?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “But I know today’s your usual market day, and I was hoping to catch you before you tried to hobble into town.” Her eyes widened. “Ah-ha, I knew it!” he said smugly. “You _were_ planning to go, weren’t you?”

“No-o,” she lied unconvincingly. When he just raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, she huffed out a breath. “Oh, all right. I _was_ thinking about it. But if I don’t, there won't be anything to make for supper, so I don’t see a way around it.”

“Well, I could go for you,” Roy said. She blinked. Amused as he was to realize that she’d never even considered the possibility, it also stung a little. “Aw come on!  I’m perfectly capable of picking up ingredients!” He protested. “You can even write me out a list so I don’t forget anything.”

“Well...that really would be helpful,” she admitted. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” he shrugged. “Would it make you feel better if I said I had a letter to mail and was going anyway?” Never mind that he’d waited two extra days to send his usual letter, just in case.

“All right, then. If you’re sure,” she said carefully. “Will you hand me a pen, please?” 

* * *

Well that hadn’t gone as planned, Roy thought. He dragged himself to his feet, still wheezing, and tried to stifle a moan. The detritus of the shopping was scattered all around him. Probing his split lip with his tongue as he surveyed the damage, he fervently hoped he had enough money left from his allowance to cover replacements. Ugh, what a mess.

The meat was perfectly all right, tightly wrapped up in waxed brown paper as it was. But the bottle of milk was a loss, and all but three of the eggs were ground into mud on the road. The apples, a delicate shade of green under the liberal coat of dirt and smashed egg goop, might be a bit bruised, but he figured they’d wash up all right. And only about half of the flour had been spilled.

It could’ve been worse, Roy thought as he bent down to fetch the last stray apple from the little ditch along the side of the road. His bruised ribs screamed in protest, but he clenched his jaw resolutely and straightened back up. Fortunately, the letter he’d gotten in response from the girls was safely tucked into an inside pocket of his jacket, so they hadn’t been able to do anything to _that_. So that was something. He sighed.

_I probably shouldn't have provoked them_ , he thought ruefully. But the moment they’d stopped him he’d known that the meeting wouldn’t end well. Maybe they’d have spared the groceries if he’d kept his unruly mouth shut, but he just hadn’t been able to resist getting a verbal shot in here and there, and so…well. Mortifying as it was, he’d have to turn around and go right back to town, and back into all the same shops, barely an hour after he’d been there. But he might as well drop off the surviving things first, since he was nearly home anyway. 

Miss Hawkeye looked up when the back door opened, the smile of greeting on her face melting into a round ‘o’ of shock as she took in his bedraggled state.

“Oh! What happened?” she gasped, as if it wasn’t fairly obvious. 

“Your neighbors are jerks,” was all Roy said. He tried to smile as he said it, but sucked in a sharp breath when the movement made his spilt lip crack open again. Quickly drying her wet, soapy hands on her apron, Riza took the remains of the groceries from him, dumping them impatiently on the counter. Roy dropped heavily into his usual chair with a wince while Miss Hawkeye busied herself with a clean dish cloth and the cold water at the sink.

“Here,” she said softly, bending over him. He accepted the cloth gratefully and began to gingerly dab the dried blood off his face.

“Do I have a black eye, yet?” he said, trying for a light tone. Her serious brown eyes flicked over him, assessing the damage.

“Mm, not yet, but you will. It takes a day or so to turn nasty colors,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Huh, really?” Wait, how did she know that? 

“Um-hm. Just like all bruises do. But it won’t be as bad if you put something cold on it now,” she said, moving toward the icebox. 

She sounded like she was speaking from experience. Roy started to frown, but that only hurt his lip, so he settled for watching her as she rifled through the icebox in search of something suitable. Finally she chose a hunk of beef steak, which she carefully wrapped in another thin, clean dish cloth.

“Here, this should help,” she said, offering it to him.

“Thanks. Ow,” he hissed, as the cold beef hit his sore eye. “That short blonde guy is a lot stronger than he looks.”

“You must mean Thomas. Yes, he is. I should have warned you about him, and his friends, but...”

“You didn’t think I’d be here long enough for it to matter?” he supplied. She smiled a little.

“Well, yes. But also because they don’t generally come out this direction. They’re afraid of Papa.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he mumbled. Her eyes snapped to his.

“What do you mean?” she said, a little sharply. Roy flushed.

“Nothing, really. I just...got that impression.” She said nothing for several moments, her eyes darting between his as though she could read the answers there.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked softly after a moment. Roy sighed.

“I was about a mile from home when I ran into them…” he began.

 

_“Oi, new kid!” snapped a rough voice. I looked up, mildly surprised, as three burly-looking boys materialized on the path around me._

_“Hi,” I said, a little warily. These guys looked a few years older than me, and were quite a bit larger. And the short blonde one who seemed to be the leader did not have a very friendly look on his face._

_“What’s your name, pretty boy?” he said sneeringly. I fought the impulse to roll my eyes. Starting off with a mild insult, so I’d know my place in the pecking order, was a childish move at best. This encounter was probably not going to go well._

_“Roy Mustang. Nice to meet you,” I said, shifting my bag of groceries to one arm and offering a hand. The other boy just glared back at me. At least I’d tried to be civil. He dropped the pretense right then and there._

_“You’re the one who's been toying with my little sister?” he snarled, blue eyes narrowed to slits._

_“What? Toying with—I don’t even know your sister,” I protested, confused. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks, I barely know anyone—”_

_“Shut the hell up!” the second boy snapped. Another blue eyed blonde, taller and broader than the other. If possible, guy number two looked even angrier than the girl’s brother. I thought I was beginning to understand the problem._

_“Look, there seems to be some kind of mistake, here,” I said, in what I hoped was a placating tone._

_“Don't you even try lyin’ to us, city boy,” spat boy number two. “I **saw** you talking to Sarah!” The third one put his hand on number two’s shoulder, as though to calm him down. But he just shrugged it off impatiently._

_“I’m sure I talked to a bunch of people today, but I certainly haven’t been **toying** with any of them,” I said. Which girl could they possibly mean? I’d talked with...all right, flirted with, several older women in town today while in the market and the post office, but I couldn't think of a single one among them that was close enough to my own age to qualify as guy number one’s sister._

_The third boy, a green eyed brunet, seemed to be the most rational of the three. Shaking his head at the other two in a warning sort of way, he took over their half of the conversation._

_“Look, kid, Rick saw you with her at the post office,” he explained. “And she told Tom,” who was presumably the older brother, “that she’s talked to you a few times before.”_

_I was beginning to lose my patience._

_“I already told you that I hardly know anyone here. The only woman I speak to on a regular basis is Mrs. White at the post office, and since I very much doubt that she’s your little sister, I really have no idea what you are talking about.”_

_Mrs. White was the plump postmistress in her fifties that I often chatted with when dropping off or picking up my letters. The brunet was making a face like he was trying not to laugh. The other two boys, Tom and Rick, did not look so amused._

_“You think you’re so clever, city boy?” Rick growled. “Just because you’re some big shot alchemy student?”_

_“I don’t just think I’m clever, I know so,” I retorted, unable to resist. “Alchemy sure as hell isn’t easy, or else everyone would do it.” The enraged expressions on their faces told me I’d better shut up, but I didn’t care. “Now if you don’t mind…” and I tried to keep walking. As one, they moved to block me._

_“Oh but we do mind, don’t we, guys?” Rick said, looming closer._

_“I don’t care how damn smart you think you are, you still got no right to be messing with my little sister, you little sonofa—” Tom snarled._

_“All right, look,” I interrupted him. “I **still** don’t know what any of you are going on about. I’m sure that I’d remember talking to a pretty girl in town, and I don’t, so I haven’t. Okay?” _

_I knew I’d made a mistake when Tom clenched his fists and turned beet red._

_“You saying my sister ain’t pretty enough for you?” he roared._

_“That’s not what I—” I started to say. But Tom moved a lot faster than I expected, and he cuffed me upside the head, hard, before I’d even finished the thought._

_“Oi, Tom,” the brunet spoke up as I staggered. “Look out. What if someone sees us?” he said, looking around a little anxiously._

_“Shut up, Harry,” Tom and Rick both hissed._

_There was a scuffle, which was shorter than I’d like to admit (though I did get in a few punches before Tom maneuvered behind me and pinned my arms back). I don’t know exactly when I’d dropped the groceries, but they were still mostly undamaged at that point, just spilled at our feet. And then I opened my mouth again._

_“Afraid to risk a fair fight, huh?” I wheezed._

_“Let’s see how pretty that face is when I’m through with you,” Rick snarled savagely. His left hook left me seeing stars. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop my mouth from moving._

_“Doesn’t matter what you do to my face; still won’t improve yours any,” I said. “No wonder your girlfriend has wandering eyes—have you ever looked in a mirror, pal?” Harry was looking at me in horror, but he made no move to stop Rick, who bellowed with rage and lunged. Tom, who had still been holding my arms, jumped aside instinctively and tripped over the spilled groceries lying there, tearing the bag wide open._

_I started to duck, but Rick slammed into me like a speeding truck, tackling me to the ground with a heavy thud. And then we were rolling on the ground and pounding every inch of each other we could reach while we fought for the upper hand. Tom finally leaped in and dragged me off Rick with a whispered curse. He sort of threw me to one side, and I lay there panting and curled in on myself, while Rick struggled to his feet._

_Tom kicked me viciously in the stomach and back a few times for good measure. Rick took out his rage on the food, which had been scattered a bit by our little wrestling match, stomping and kicking viciously as though picturing my face on each and every crumb. Harry seemed content to stand guard, and though he didn’t add to the damage being inflicted, he still made no move to stop the others._

_“We should go before **he** sees us,” he finally said, looking in the direction of sensei’s house._

_“Fine,” Tom said with one last kick. We’re done here anyways. Rick?” Rick took two long strides to me, grabbed a handful of my hair and wrenched my head close to his._

_“Think of that as a warning, pretty boy,” Rick growled in my ear. I was more than a little pissed to realize that he looked none the worse for our little scuffle. Meanwhile, I could feel blood running down my nose and lip._

_“Stay the fuck away from Sarah or next time you won’t get off so lightly,” Tom added. Rick let go of me and I collapsed into the dirt. Then there was the sound of three pairs of feet running off along the road, distant laughing and whooping, and then nothing. I lay still for a few more minutes, catching my breath and waiting for the pounding in my ears to subside._

_And wondered how in the world I was going to explain this to the girls.  
_

 

After Roy finished, Riza just stared at him. And then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

“Was this your first fist fight, Mr. Mustang?” He heard an undercurrent of amusement in her tone. It was new, for her, and he found that he rather liked it.

“Ha, no, not exactly,” he said. “But it is my first time fighting over a girl. I just wish I knew who I’m supposed to have seduced,” he continued ruefully.

“I can’t believe you made a move on Sarah Granger, and you don’t even remember,” Riza said, shaking her head. Roy snorted.

“She the town beauty or something?”

“You could say that. She’s about your age; works part time at the post office. Um…average height, slim, curly brown hair and dark brown eyes…any of this sound familiar?”

“Crap,” Roy said softly as realization hit him. “She’s the clerk at the post office, isn’t she?” Riza nodded. Roy groaned. “I’ve hardly said two words to her! Just ‘hello,’ and ‘thanks,’ after she gave me my letter!” Riza was trying hard not to laugh, which Roy appreciated. “I dunno, maybe I smiled at her or something, but I swear that’s all! How was I supposed to know the girl would construct some kind of romantic fantasy out of that—and then tell her brother about me, for heaven’s sake?”

“He’s probably just been waiting for an excuse,” Riza said thoughtfully.

“What, to pound on me?”

“No, more like…the opportunity to put you in your place, I guess,” she replied. “You’re the new kid in town. You’re studying alchemy with my father, which tells them that you’re smart, brave and probably come from money,” Roy opened his mouth to protest but Riza just shook her head. “To them. Don’t think I don’t know how they look at my father. He really should charge our neighbors more for his services, but he doesn’t, and so they seem to think his rates for personal tutelage are astronomical because it’s befitting of his station.”

“I mean, his fees aren’t exactly cheap, but yeah, I see your point,” he conceded. “Sorry, go on?”

“It’s just that—you’re different,” she explained. “You aren’t from around here. People notice.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this,” he said. “You mean I’m a novelty.”

“Well…yes and no. You’re someone new, and that automatically makes you interesting. But you’re also polite and charming, and you talk and dress differently than the farmers and shopkeepers in town. And being an alchemy apprentice gives you a sort of prestige, too.”

Roy was a little disappointed to note that Miss Riza said all of these things without a trace of discomfiture, meaning that she didn’t intend to pay him any compliments. On the contrary, she spoke with the same quiet confidence she'd had when giving him cooking tips the day before. She was simply giving him her honest opinion of how other people viewed him. While he would have been better pleased if she’d blushed or stammered or shown some other sort of consciousness when describing him as “interesting,” “polite and charming,” Roy decided he was just happy that she was talking to him so openly these days.

"Big fish in a small pond?" he joked, smiling.

“Right. You draw attention wherever you go without even trying.”

“Which draws attention away from them,” he said, nodding. “Attention that they’re used to being the center of.”

“Mm-hm. You’re threatening their ‘status.’”

“Geez,” Roy sighed. “It’s all so childish.”

“I agree. But then, they are great big children,” she smiled. “Honestly, I doubt Sarah ever said anything other than that she’d seen you today,” Riza added. “But Rick is sweet on her, which everyone in town knows except for her. And her brother has always been way too protective of his sisters. I don’t think Harry would be so bad if he didn’t hang around the other two so much. Or if he just stood up to them once in a while.”

“Yeah, he was the only one who didn’t hit me. Didn’t stop the other two, mind you, but at least he didn’t get in a cheap shot while I was down. Ouch,” he mumbled, and gingerly felt his lip again.

“You ought to put something on your lip, too,” Riza said, untying her apron and draping it over her chair. “I think I have some antiseptic salve in my bathroom cabinet, remind me to get it for you later.”

“Yeah, thanks…” he said absently, running a hand through his hair. Riza limped carefully over to the counter and began thoughtfully turning over the damaged groceries, assessing them as Roy had earlier.

“Well, we can make do with this for the time being,” she murmured. “This amount of flour will be just enough for the dumplings if I add a bit of cornmeal, and I can make baked apples instead of an apple pie for dessert…Rather difficult to make dumplings without milk, though, so it’s a good thing we still have a bit left over from last week...”she trailed off.

“I’ll replace the damaged stuff, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy said, removing the steak from his eye and starting to stand. “Just let me run upstairs and get my allowance and I’ll go right now—”

“Please don’t,” she interrupted. “You aren’t responsible for the cost of replacements. What happened wasn’t even your fault. And we have enough to get by on for the next few days; you don’t need to make a special trip.”

“But—” he started to protest.

“Please don’t go, Mr. Mustang,” she said again with such a pleading expression that Roy couldn’t help but give in.

“Well…if you insist,” he said, allowing her to push him gently back into his chair. “But I'm coming with you next time you go,” Roy said firmly. The corners of Riza’s mouth twitched, and her eyes sparkled, but she said nothing. “What?” he asked, intrigued by the look on her face.

“I didn't say anything,” she replied, eyebrows raised, slight surprise replacing the fleeting expression that had captured Roy’s attention.

“No, but you wanted to, I can tell.  Come on, out with it,” he prompted. “I can take it. Let me guess—you were thinking you can’t send a boy to do a man’s job, right?” And there it was again, a sarcastic little smirk and the light of laughter in her dark eyes.

“Well...” she said, a little tentatively, “I was _going_ to say that I’ll probably be safer going alone, if the Terrible Trio has it out for you.” The teasing lilt to her tone combined with that look in her eye was simply enchanting.

“Low blow!” Roy cried, and melodramatically clutched his chest as though physically struck. “Right in my ego!” Riza laughed, and Roy beamed back at her. Growing suddenly bold, she nodded decisively.

“All right. We’ll go together next week,” she said.

“Oh, so I’m allowed to come now?” Roy asked, still grinning. “Even though I’m a marked man and all?” What she said next both surprised and thrilled him.

“Don’t worry—I’ll protect you,” she answered, in a voice warm with amusement. Though he didn’t know it yet, it wasn't the last time she’d say such a thing.

* * *

  **June 21**

_“Dearest darling Roy,_

_My poor precious boy, what on earth possessed you to flirt with some mousy little mail clerk in the first place? (Incidentally, the girls and I took a vote, and it was unanimous-- we will not accept some countrified upstart as a sister-in-law. We insist upon the gentle, sweet and intelligent Miss Hawkeye and we will brook no disagreements)._

_Now, as for the fight you got yourself into: Violet has offered to show you how to go about dodging punches for the next time, and Veronica thinks you’d better take lessons in hand-to-hand combat with her father whenever you’re in town next. Our sweet Lucy says perhaps you ought to have tried to reason with those older boys rather than letting your temper get the best of you, and Ada heartily agrees, but they both insist I add that they know you were provoked and outnumbered and are very sorry you were hurt. And we **all** send you our warmest love and sympathy, little brother._

_How are the bruised ribs healing up? And what did your teacher say when he saw your face? You didn’t mention how you were planning to explain the fight to him; I hope he wasn’t upset with you over it. Juliet’s been trying to find a way to send you a sheet cake by mail as an “I’m sorry you got punched in the face” present, but in the meantime she hopes you enjoy the peanut brittle. Claire advises you to share with Miss Riza—there must be at least three pounds of it in this great big box, and I’ve no idea what they will say at the post office when I try to mail it. At least it travels better than a cake would!_

_Also, Sophie has enclosed the book you requested a few weeks ago. She spent a lot of time searching for a suitable beginners guide about caring for roses, and she was very anxious that it should be practical and informative without being too pedantic. So do please let us know whether Miss Riza likes it, won’t you? And of course, we are all very glad to hear about Miss Riza’s rapid recovery. Did you ever learn what she was doing up in that tree, by the way?”_

 

Roy did end up sharing the peanut brittle with both Riza and her father, who had a fondness for the confection that surprised even Miss Riza.

Both children had agreed not to mention the fight to Master Hawkeye unless asked, as they were unsure whether he’d be upset with Roy for fighting, in spite of the extenuating circumstances. If Berthold noticed Roy’s black eye beneath the layer of cosmetics that Miss Riza had helped him apply to hide it, he never mentioned it, nor did he comment on the blatant spilt in Roy’s lip that the children had been unable to conceal. However, Roy was certain that he was the object of his teacher’s intense gaze more often than usual.

And naturally enough, it became routine for the two teenagers to walk together to the market and the post office each week.  Riza had flatly refused Roy’s many attempts to reimburse her for the groceries, insisting that it hadn’t been his fault and that he was not responsible. He had the feeling that she was planning something, although he didn’t fully understand what it was until they ran into the Terrible Trio (as Riza had christened them) about two weeks after the original incident.

The three boys hesitated when they saw Miss Hawkeye walking beside the “city boy,” but then came on anyway, strutting and preening as they approached the pair.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” sneered Rick, who was the taller of the two blond boys. “So you brought along a girl to hide behind, this time?”

“Aw, the little townie can’t handle walking all by his lonesome without backup!” scorned Tom, who was shorter and stockier than the other two.

“What a momma’s boy,” Harry laughed, tossing his longish brown hair out of his eyes in a way that he probably thought made him look cool.

Roy clenched his fists and said nothing. Before he started swinging, he had Miss Hawkeye to consider. Would these guys go after a girl in the first place? If Roy told her to, would she run for it? Would these jerks try to chase her if she did? Could he hold them off long enough for her to get back home? He shifted his weight uneasily, calculating.

“I suggest you hold your tongue and mind your own business, Thomas Granger,” a cool, serene voice said suddenly. All four boys looked at each other, equally startled to realize that the voice had come from Miss Hawkeye.

“Oh yeah?” rejoined the short blond. “And just what are you going to do about it, princess?” But the one called Harry immediately looked nervous.

“Hey, cut it out man, she’s just a kid,” he hissed at his friend, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

“Yeah, so? She shouldn’t get in our way, then, should she?”

“You should watch that smart mouth, little one,” Rick drawled. “We don’t want to have to teach you a lesson, too.”

“Maybe we do,” Tom interjected. “And you still haven’t answered me, doll face. What do you think you’re going to do about it?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” she retorted, sharply. “But I might remind you that my father is a very busy man. He isn’t able to process every request that comes to him.” A smile spread slowly across Roy’s lips as he realized what she was planning.

“What’s she talking about?” Rick demanded, looking puzzled. The other two boys swiftly became very uncomfortable.

“Are you going to explain it to Mr. Shepherd, or shall I?” Riza asked them innocently.

“Oh, come on, Miss Riza,” Harry said weakly. “We was only teasing the city kid, here. We didn’t mean _you_ no harm.”

“Is that so?” she said coolly. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Aw, these little townies never stick around, Miss Hawkeye, why d’you even care about this one?” Tom added, abruptly switching to a more formal address.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she said quietly. “But my father happens to be quite fond of Mr. Mustang. He was seriously displeased to find that he’d been set upon.”

“He was also pretty disappointed when there was no apple pie after supper,” Roy added in a grumbly undertone, glaring at the three older boys.

“Exactly,” agreed Riza with a nod. “You are all extremely lucky that Mr. Mustang isn’t a tattle tale. He wouldn’t tell my father who hit him, or why, or what happened to the groceries he was sent to get.”

“And...and YOU won’t tell him, will you, Miss Riza? Come on now, we was just playing with him, last time. Rough housing, like. We just got a little carried away, right guys?” Harry said, turning desperately to his comrades.

“What are you all going on about?” Rick asked again, brow furrowed in confusion. But Thomas grabbed at his arm.

“Shut it!” he hissed, and then turned to Roy. “Look, man, we didn’t mean anything by it. We’re sorry, okay? It won’t happen again. Bygones and all that, yeah?”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind an honest fight, one on one. But I don’t appreciate being falsely accused and then ganged up on,” he said, looking from one to the other. “Next time you feel like coming at me, say so to my face and we’ll have a fair fight. Clear?”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say. No hard feelings?” Harry asked, urgently.

“Yeah, fine,” Roy replied.

“Hey come on, let’s go,” Tom said to his companions. Harry hesitated.

“And um, we’re real sorry about the apples and the milk, Miss Hawkeye. I—I’ll bring you new ones tomorrow, yeah?”

“Thank you, Mr. Crofter; that would be very kind of you.”

“Don’t forget the eggs and the flour,” Roy piped up.

“Yeah, course not, sure. Come on!” And Harry and Tom dragged their confused comrade away. Roy waited until they were out of earshot before turning to Miss Hawkeye. 

“That was brilliant!” he cried, delighted. To his surprise, Riza was shaking like a leaf. Had she been that frightened? “Hey, you okay?”

Riza looked up at Roy with sparkling eyes, and he realized that she was shaking with silent laughter and not fright at all.

“I am now,” she said happily. “I’ve never tried anything like that before. I didn’t know if it would work.”

“It was a fantastic idea,” he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “So what was it that sensei’s supposed to do for him?”

“A tractor repair, I think,” she replied, allowing his arm to stay where it was without appearing to notice. “Or it might have been a rototiller. Some sort of expensive machinery that would cost the Crofters their life savings to repair, anyway.”

“I’m probably supposed to feel all emasculated for letting a girl defend me, but really I’m just grateful. And impressed!” He squeezed her shoulders in innocent affection before letting his arm drop.

“I thought about talking to Mrs. Granger directly, since Tom really started it, but I wasn’t sure she’d take me seriously…and this worked much better,” she agreed, smiling. “Just try not to hit on anyone else’s girlfriend, okay? I can’t guarantee any more of them will be asking favors from Papa.”

Roy just laughed.


	5. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy finally figures a few things out, Riza finally opens up a little, and the author is not the only person traumatized by cheesy and embarrassing romance novels.

**July 6**

_“Dear Aunt Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_I hope you girls aren’t cross with me for not having written as often as before. I feel like the first few weeks of summer have flown by, and Hawkeye-sensei has really been pushing me to my limits with the alchemy lessons. I’m allowed to transmute things now, although we are starting very small—things smaller than six square inches, at this point. (Auntie, I promise I will make you a much prettier necklace as soon as I get the proper materials!)_

_Aside from the increase in my workload, it has been hotter than blazes around here the past several days, so any spare time I’ve had has been spent lying low indoors and trying not to move any more than absolutely necessary. Sensei doesn’t seem to notice the heat, but Miss Riza and I have taken to eating our dinners on the porch where there is a breeze in the evening, rather than sit in the stuffy heat of the kitchen. She says August will be worse, but at least there are thunderstorms to look forward to. And speaking of Miss Riza, I finally figured out something that has been bothering me. I wonder whether you girls had already guessed?”_

 

“Oh,” Roy murmured, with a soft exhalation full of admiration and wonder. “Wow.”

This was possibly the most beautiful place he’d found so far in his wanderings. Tilting his head back, he caught sight of bits of the bright blue sky between the gaps in the leaves and branches of the tall oak trees overhead. Soft, silky grass spread out all around his feet, from the little dirt path on which he stood to the banks of a small creek at the farther side of the clearing. Clumps of wildflowers dotted the grass, filling the air with a sweet but subtle fragrance that Roy inhaled eagerly. A light breeze whispered and shushed its way through the leaves, and slender shafts of sunlight lit the whole clearing with a soft, golden glow.

What better place to escape the stifling heat? The house was dull anyway, since Miss Riza had pulled one of her disappearing acts and left Roy with no one to talk to. He’d headed into the cool forest hoping to pass the afternoon in the pleasant dappled shade of the forest rather than sprawled listlessly in front of the radio. It was too hot to concentrate on his pleasure reading, much less study his lessons, and there wasn’t much else to do by himself.

But this would do nicely. Roy cast about for a sturdy tree to sit against. And then he changed his mind and headed for the creek instead. It wasn’t deep enough to swim in, but he toed off his shoes and socks and rolled his pant legs up to his knees. The water was clear and cold and the soft, muddy bottom squelched pleasantly between his toes.

After wading along the bank for a bit, Roy found a mossy bit of mostly dry bank to sit on and let his feet dangle in the water while he listened to the babble of water over stones and the humming of insects. His sleepy eyes followed a pair of sparrows that darted amongst the branches above him, and he wondered whether this little creek was a favorite spot of Miss Riza’s. It seemed like something she’d appreciate. Quiet, peaceful and gentle, just like her. And if he was perfectly honest with himself, he knew that he’d been hoping to find her here as well, when he realized that she was not in the house. Where was she, anyway? And why hadn’t she wanted him to come wherever she’d gone?

Somewhat petulantly, Roy worked a small stone loose from the mud of the bank and tossed it into the creek, where it made a satisfyingly heavy plunk. As he leaned forward to toss another, a golden sparkle caught his eye.

“Hello, what's that?” he said to himself. There, on the farther side of the bank, something winked brightly at him from a particularly fluffy tuft of grass. Carefully Roy waded across and scrambled to the opposite shore. It was a necklace. Roy turned his find over and over in his hands.

It was a heavy, old fashioned locket on a thick chain. It wasn’t at all tarnished, which meant it hadn't been lying there long. And to judge from the highly polished surface, whoever had dropped it must care for it a great deal. All the way out here though…surely it belonged to Miss Hawkeye? Well, might as well ask her, anyway. If he could find her, that is.

And thinking of Miss Hawkeye…Roy slowly settled back down in the soft grass, rubbing a thumb absently over the engraved surface of the locket.

Riza’s recent behavior toward Roy had undergone such a significant change from what it’d been when they’d first met—she was almost a completely different girl. Not that he was complaining, of course. He _liked_ the Riza that gently teased him and let him carry all the heavy items back from market each week and listened to the radio programs with him in the evenings when neither of them had studying to do—he felt that they really were becoming friends.

But as his ‘sisters’ had noted, Roy was no fool. All those little things he’d noticed about her before, the mistrust and the self-deprecating comments and the avoidance…he hadn’t forgotten any of those. So the question remained—why _had_ she acted so cold to him in the beginning? As glad as he was that she’d changed her mind about him, what had made such a kind and gentle girl so distant and wary in the first place? A cute, sweet girl like her shouldn’t have any reason to be fearful of strangers.

And then it hit him: maybe _that_ was the reason behind his teacher’s original warning; maybe some of his previous students had been a bit _too_ appreciative of the “cute, sweet girl” sharing their living space.

Riza was awfully young to be drawing that sort of attention, but then, there were an awful lot of creeps in the world. After all, age hadn’t stopped Violet’s former employer from shoving her up against the wall and putting his hands up her dress when she’d been a fourteen year old housemaid who looked even younger. She’d been fortunate in that she’d remembered her nails and teeth, and that sinking them into the flesh of her attacker had so shocked the man that he’d let her loose. She’d been even more fortunate to be found, a miserable quivering mess of tears and terror, on Chris’s doorstep hours later, where she’d dropped in exhaustion after running far enough and hard enough that she’d lost herself entirely. She’d been working for Madame ever since.

Supposing something similar had happened to Riza? It would certainly explain her trust issues. Of course she’d be skittish around men for a while afterward…but that explanation didn’t feel quite right. She’d been unsure of Roy, yes, and even made sure to keep out of his way at first. But she didn’t have the same _awareness_ of him that Violet had had of men in those first months after her attack, or that hunted look in her eyes…Roy knew he was missing something still. He wondered whether his aunt had already figured it out—it _was_ her business to know things, after all. Though he was willing to bet she wouldn’t tell him if he asked. She’d want him to figure it out on his own.

Had someone hurt her, then? She seemed to know an awful lot about bruises and how quickly they healed and how best to hide them with her mother’s old makeup. And Doctor James…had his familiarity with her been more than the ordinary family-doctor-in-a-small-town knowledge? Had he treated her for other injuries, ones that weren’t accidental? If so, then who’d inflicted them? Riza hadn’t acted frightened of the older boys who’d blacked _his_ eye, so it wasn’t likely that any of them had anything to do with it. But supposing one of her father’s students had laid hands on her? After all, Roy had been warned away from her within the first hour spent under Berthold Hawkeye’s roof. But then, surely her father wouldn’t _allow_ anyone to hurt her deliberately. Maybe he was way off base, here. But he had no doubt that something had happened to her.

Roy sat mulling over this question until the sunlight in the trees turned a rich shade of orange-gold. And still, the only thing he was sure of was that she’d been picked on at some point, for some unknown reason. Gathering his shoes and socks, he slowly made his way home, swinging the locket on its chain.

As he threw open the back door, he nearly ran headlong into Riza. She avoided him neatly with a little skip backwards.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to run you over,” he apologized with a cheerful laugh. And then, seeing Riza’s pale and drawn face more clearly, he added: “Hey, you okay?”

“No, I’m fine, I just—” she cut herself off suddenly and froze with her eyes riveted on his hands. “What is that?” she asked in a strangled voice.  

“Oh,” Roy said, holding up the locket so she could see it better. He’d half forgotten about it already. “Is this yours? I thought it might be.” Her hand flew to her throat, and the remaining color drained from her face.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it is.”

“Didn’t you notice it was missing?” he asked, puzzled. Why was she looking at him like that?

“I’d only just realized,” she said, with one hand still at her throat as though she distrusted the evidence of her own eyes. “I was just going back out to look for it.”

“It’s, um, it’s really pretty,” he said carefully, trying to understand her reaction. Why fear? And why fear directed at him? Hadn’t they gotten past this already? “Was it your mom’s?”

“Yes. Please, give it back,” she burst out desperately, taking a step closer. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please!” she begged.

“You’ll— ** _what_**?!” Roy cried, realization dawning. “I’m not...Miss Riza, I’m not threatening you! I’m not--” he broke off and thrust the necklace at her as though it burned his hand.

Riza darted forward and snatched it from his loose grip, clutching it protectively against her chest with both hands and never taking those wide eyes off of him. And suddenly the injustice of it was too much for Roy to bear.

“I found it in the woods just now; I assumed it was yours so I brought it back with me. I didn’t _steal_ it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said hotly. “And honestly? I can’t believe you think I’d do such a thing! What kind of person do you take me for?!” he added.

Angry and flustered and more than a little hurt, Roy had no idea what sort of expression was on his face. But he noticed Riza’s flinch, and he saw her hands starting to shake. And immediately, he was ashamed of himself. Not only was Miss Hawkeye younger than him, and a girl, but she was frightened. And yelling at someone who was already scared would not solve anything, regardless of the provocation he might have had.

“Hey,” he said, a little gruff still, but without the heat this time. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I’m sorry...” He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss. What in the bloody hell was he supposed to do about this girl?

“N-no,” Riza managed to choke out. Though still trembling violently, she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...implied you’d taken it on purpose. It’s just...It’s just that—” and to his horror, tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh god,” Roy said, full of remorse. “Please don’t cry! What can I do? Do you want me get you a handkerchief? Or make tea? Or just leave you alone and go away to my room? Please, just tell me what you need me to do,” he pleaded, growing frantic.

Riza shook her head, and took several deep breaths, in a clear struggle to regain control. She sank into the closest kitchen chair, swiping at her eyes with impatience. Warily, Roy drew out another chair and settled beside her, careful not to sit too close.

He longed to stroke a hand over hers, or to place an arm around her thin shoulders, something—he’d grown up petted and fawned over, and it had made him very tactile in his affection. But he simply curled his fingers into his palms, knowing that he’d only make things worse if he tried to touch her now. They’d probably misunderstood each other enough for one day.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, ashamed of her weakness.

“I’d say forget it, but...what the hell just happened?” he said, a crease in his brow. A tiny, slightly hysterical giggle escaped her lips, and gave him courage to continue. It was time to stop pussyfooting around her trust issues. “Okay look, I think we need to talk about this,” he said firmly. “Someone’s obviously treated you pretty horribly for you to react like that. Was it another student?” She nodded.

“Not just the one,” she confessed. “There have been a few who...teased me.”

“Uh, seems to me like there was more than just teasing going on,” he insisted, thinking of the various bullies he'd come across in school. “Did they take your stuff? Hit you? Like that?” She nodded again.

“Sometimes they’d follow me,” she admitted. “On my way to town. There aren’t usually a lot of people on the road, so...” she sniffled and trailed off, reluctant to actually say: _so they could do whatever they wanted and there was no one to help me_. She didn’t have to.

“Those little bastards,” Roy hissed, clenching his fists. “Did they hurt you?”

“Some of them, yes.” He hated knowing that he’d been right.

“What possible reason did they have to pick on you?” he burst out. “What the _hell_ is wrong with people?!” She lifted her eyes at that, and appeared to be gauging the sincerity of his anger with those soft, wary eyes.

“They thought they could convince me to do things for them which I wasn’t willing to do,” she explained steadily. “Apparently pain is an excellent motivator.”

“What?! They **_what_**?!” God, she’s just a _kid_! Passionate anger flooded his chest, competing with the horrified realization that his earlier guesses had been so close to the truth. It was one thing to wonder in the abstract sense whether something bad had happened to her, but to actually hear her say the words in that soft, sweet voice of hers…Roy felt physically ill.

“It’s no secret that the military wants my father to join the State Alchemist program,” Riza continued, calmer now but still shivering a little. “Everyone knows that he’s been researching elemental alchemy. Flame alchemy. And every student that he’s taken in hopes that he’ll choose to reveal the secrets of his research to them.”

“Wait…” Roy said softly. What did that have to do with anything? Could she mean—?

“I don’t even know alchemy,” she spat bitterly. “And even if I did, I’m no traitor.”

“You’re saying they wanted you to betray your father? To give them his notes, his codes, whatever?” he asked incredulously. She looked up in surprise.

“Yes.” Not exactly what he’d been thinking, then. He was almost relieved, but then….

“So every time I talked to you, you thought that I just wanted…oh.” His face fell.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mustang,” Riza said quietly. “I know you’re not that kind of person, now. You’ve had more opportunity than most of them did, and you’ve never _once_ tried to…” she choked on the words and paused for a moment. “But, when I saw my locket in your hand…”

“You thought that I’d taken it to use as some sort of leverage against you,” he finished. He had a disturbingly clear mental image of a boy his age holding the locket over the head of a much younger Riza, one who cried and begged in vain for him to give it back as he taunted her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Even though…I know you’ve never acted like that before, but…there were certain things that—that reminded me of those other times.”

“Yeah, like everything I’ve done since I got here," he mumbled, the sick feeling welling up in his belly.

It all made sense now. Why she was so quiet and cautious at first, and why she was so careful with what she said and how she moved in his presence. Why she’d always seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop whenever he talked to her. And here he was, thinking that she was finally beginning to trust him.

“There were others, weren’t there, who started off being friendly to you, and then changed?” he asked in a dull voice.

“Yes,” she said simply.

So all this time…she’d been testing him. Leaving herself vulnerable and exposed deliberately, to see whether he’d try anything. Probably just hoping he’d get it over with already. It hurt, to know that she’d been viewing his sincere offers of friendship through such a sinister lens all of this time. Just waiting for the day he’d turn on her. He swallowed hard as another thought occurred to him.

“That day, when you dislocated your shoulder…you fell out of the tree, didn’t you?” The tree with branches that nearly reached her bedroom window.

“Yes.”

“I wondered,” he said softly, eyes clouded. It was brilliant of her, really. How else could she be sure she’d never run into him in the hallway? Or slip back into her room unseen, without needing to pass the library or the kitchen? Was that what she’d done this morning too? Avoided his unwanted company by taking refuge up a tree where he’d never find her by accident?

Riza watched him closely, reading the emotions that flashed in his eyes.

Holding her breath, she slowly lowered her folded hands away from her breast. Her hands were no longer shaking when she unfolded them to reveal the pretty locket concealed there.

“Would...would you like to see it?” she asked softly. Roy’s eyes flicked to hers, surprised, but he didn't move. “Here,” she said, extending her hands toward him.

His heart leaped in his chest. Maybe…maybe he hadn’t been completely wrong, after all. Maybe she really had been starting to trust him. Wasn’t that what this small gesture was? A display of her trust in him?

Roy moved very slowly, as though in the presence of a wild deer that would spring away if he spooked her. His fingertips, warm and calloused, brushed her palm as he lifted the necklace by the golden chain. He took a moment to admire the complicated pattern of leaves and flowers engraved along the edges, though he was already very familiar with it by this time. Running a thumb along the catch of the oval shaped locket, he looked at her again, silently asking permission. She nodded encouragement, and he flicked it open.

There were two pictures inside. One was of a woman he’d seen only once before in a faded photograph. This picture, although smaller, was clearer and less faded than the other one had been, and he studied it carefully. The second picture was of the same woman, in a wedding dress, standing beside his teacher, who wore a formal suit. They looked radiantly happy.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, reverently. “Your mom, right?”

“Mm-hm. She died about five years ago,” she explained, shifting slightly closer to him. “I don’t have much to remember her by, besides this locket. Papa…papa got rid of a lot of her things, after.”

Roy studied the woman’s face for another moment before carefully closing the locket again. With his free hand, he reached out and caught hold of Riza’s slender fingers, gently tugging her hand closer. Solemnly, he then tipped the heavy locket into her outstretched palm and very gently folded her fingers back over it.

“Then this must be precious to you. I’m glad I found it before you missed it,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. They stared at each other for another moment, each equally aware that something had shifted in their relationship. Before it could become awkward, the clock in the hallway struck the hour, and both children jumped. And in the same moment they both began to laugh, amused at themselves for being startled.

“I should probably start dinner,” Riza said shyly.

“Want a hand? I've gotten pretty good at chopping things,” Roy offered with a grin. She blinked, considering.

“Sure, why not?”

As his chair scraped back, Roy saw something out of the corner of his eye. By the time he’d turned his head, it was already gone, but he could have sworn he’d seen the edge of his teacher’s coat swishing around the corner. 

* * *

 

**July 19**

_“The heat wave hasn’t let up all week, but the good news is that Hawkeye-sensei has started to allow me to work on certain transmutations down in the basement laboratory. It’s MUCH cooler down there than it ever is in the rest of the house. I’d spend every day there if I could, but sensei only lets me go in there when he’s there as well…I understand why, of course, but some days I almost want to tell him I don’t care what he’s working on or what secret notes he has down there so long as it’s nice and cool inside._

_In the meantime, Miss Riza and I are getting along better than ever. I’m actually really glad we had that little misunderstanding before, because ever since the Great Locket Debacle, she’s been much more relaxed around me. She still slips off on her own, sometimes, but I’m trying not to take it personally. I believe Claire and Violet had it right when they said she just needs time to herself every now and then.”_

 

Roy glared at the messy piles of paper strewn over the coffee table in front of him. He tore another page from his notebook and viciously crumpled it into a tight ball that he dropped on the floor with the others, each similarly crumpled. He sighed heavily and leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch. Just as he told himself he’d better call it a night, Riza’s soft voice broke into his thoughts.

“Couldn’t you sleep, either?”

Roy startled a little and turned towards the open doorway, where Riza lingered doubtfully with one small hand resting on the door frame.

“Haven’t gone to bed yet, actually,” he admitted, smiling. “I was trying to finish this cipher first.”

She glanced over at the clock, but didn’t comment. It wasn’t the first time she’d found him studying late into the night, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But she’d never interrupted him before. 

“Mm,” she murmured in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry; I didn't mean to disturb you. Good night, Mr. Mustang,” and she turned to leave.

“No, wait,” Roy said quickly, dropping his pen. “I’m not making any progress anyway; I was just about to give it up for the night. Come in and talk to me for a little bit, won’t you?”

After the slightest hesitation, Riza entered the living room without further protest, and a voice in the back of Roy’s tired brain wondered if she’d been secretly hoping he’d ask her to stay. It was odd for her to deliberately seek him out at such an hour, even if their recent interactions were markedly different from their initial awkward encounters. As he shifted some of his things aside so that she could sit beside him on the couch, Roy decided to find out what was on her mind.

“I didn’t wake you, did I? Making too much noise?” he asked, knowing that he’d barely made a sound in hours.

“No, not at all,” she replied a little absently, letting her gaze wander over the stacks of books and papers scattered around him. She was wearing a modest, pale blue dressing gown over her night clothes, in spite of the warmth of the summer night, and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. “I was…already awake when I noticed that the lights were still on down here,” she said.

“Bad dream?” Roy asked lightly, purposefully looking away from her as he spoke. He was pushing his luck, he knew, and he half-expected her to ignore the question entirely.

“Something like that,” she replied, almost too quietly to be heard. Roy stole a glance at her, surprised that she’d answered him at all. There was something forlorn in her expression, which he’d never seen there before. It made her seem…fragile, somehow. Vulnerable. More so than she’d ever been in his presence, even when injured and drugged.

The cushions next to him dipped slightly as she settled into the spot he’d cleared for her, drawing her legs underneath herself. She took a moment to tuck the edges of her robe around her bare feet. Roy had an odd feeling that if she’d been a much younger girl, or a less reserved one, she’d have curled up against his side for comfort, seeking the solace of human contact in the wake of a disturbing dream. But just as quickly as the thought formed, he pushed it from his mind. Regardless of her reasons, she’d sought out his company intentionally, and that was enough.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked in a low tone, shooting her another sidelong glance. She bit her lip, considering.

“It was…it was a dream about my mom,” she said at last, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself.

“Ah,” he replied softly, understanding lighting his features. Not a scary dream then. Not really a sad one either, or at least not entirely, but the sort of heartbreakingly joyful dream about a lost loved one, where you woke up filled with longing and an empty sort of ache in your chest, fighting to stay in the dream-world even as you realized that it was just a dream.

“Yes, exactly,” Riza said, and Roy suddenly realized that he’d said the last part out loud without intending to. He flushed slightly. But Riza looked at him, then, and the sadness in her eyes had given way to a mixture of gratitude and relief, which drove away his embarrassment and left him feeling as though he’d said precisely the right thing for once.

Roy didn’t know whether to blame the late hour or the dim amber glow of the lamp, but the conversation felt more intimate than any they’d had before. Worried that anything else he might say would break the spell between them, he thought carefully about how Claire or Elinor would respond in such a situation, they being the two most likely to inspire confidences in others.

“If…you know, if you want to talk about it more…I’ll listen,” he offered, rubbing the back of his neck and trying not to sound like an awkward teenager. “And if not, then that’s fine too.” Not _quite_ what he’d meant to say, but it seemed to do the trick.

“Thank you, but I’m all right, now,” Riza said with the hint of a smile. “I just…I still really miss her, sometimes. But...I’d feel worse if I didn’t miss her at all, if that makes any sense.” Roy noticed that she’d relaxed somewhat while speaking, loosening her tightly crossed arms and slumping a little more naturally on her cushion. When he shifted in his place to face her more directly, she moved also, unconsciously mirroring his position.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he replied. “I can barely remember what my own parents looked like, since I was so little when they died. If it weren’t for the pictures, I dunno if I’d even have that much. But Aunt Chris made a point of talking about them a lot when I was growing up, so at least I feel like I know a little bit about them, even if I can’t remember much.” Something flickered across Riza’s face then, and Roy wanted to kick himself. He’d said something wrong, again. Had he just ruined this moment? But Riza just sighed and picked at the hem of her robe with restless fingers.

“Papa never talks to me about my mother,” she admitted softly, unraveling a loose thread. “I think…I think that it hurts him too much to think about her. So he just…doesn’t.”

There was nothing Roy could think of to say in response that wouldn’t sound petty or trite. Instead, he reached over to give Riza’s hand a quick squeeze. She didn’t flinch or move away, and no flicker of fear or suspicion crossed her features, and Roy rejoiced inwardly.

After a moment, she cleared her throat delicately and shifted to tuck a stray wisp of blonde behind one ear.

“Need a hand straightening all this up?” she asked, with a vague gesture at the scattered notebooks and papers strewn across the table and floor around them. “Or are you not going to bed yet?”

“I think I’d better,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Maybe this stuff will make more sense in the morning.” He lurched forward and started to shuffle the papers together into a rough kind of pile. Riza leaned down to gather a few stray pages that had fallen to the floor. Glancing at a page of handwritten notes as she handed them over, she frowned.

“What did you say you’re working on?” she asked as he took them. “Codes?” Roy glanced up, surprised.

“Yeah, how could you tell?” Riza shrugged.

“These little boxes and the strings of letters, with half of them crossed out. It looks like you’ve been working on a cipher and trying different key words.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. I’m trying to crack a Playfair cipher,” he sighed. “Sensei’s been talking about codes and things lately. He says it’s important to learn some basic codes if I want to delve into some of the deeper branches of alchemy. I guess most alchemists encode their notes so their work can't be stolen, and the research into certain topics might involve a certain amount of code breaking and puzzle solving. If you know the key it’s easy, but trying to guess is...difficult.” Riza’s dark eyes flicked to his, sparkling with interest.

“He wants you to figure out what that sheet says? Using a Playfair cipher but not knowing the key word?”

“Yep.”

“That’s extremely difficult, especially if you’re a beginner,” she breathed. “No luck so far, then?”

“Nope,” he sighed. “I think he’s trying to prove a point, actually.”

“Why, did you tell him it sounded too easy for you or something?” she asked with a slightly lopsided smile. He didn’t respond right away, and her soft smile widened into an impish grin. “You did, didn’t you?” she demanded.

“No! Well, not in those exact words...” he said sheepishly. “I might have implied that it seemed easier than the other stuff we’ve been working on…but never mind. I’ll just have to grovel appropriately when I fail miserably and pray that he’ll take pity on me.”

“It’s your only hope,” she agreed, still grinning. “I got pretty good at cracking the sort of codes that require a key _text_ , but only because I cheated. I stopped dusting for a week to find out which books he’d been consulting on a regular basis,” she said conspiratorially. “And then I just tried each of them. He said something once about knowing the person whose code you were trying to crack; that their habits and likes and connections helped you to know what sort of key they'd be likely to use. So…I took his advice.” Roy was watching her with open admiration.

“Sneaky _and_ brilliant, I like that!” he laughed. “Well, so far I’ve only tried his name, your name, and the name of the town, with no luck...your surname has repeating letters, and so does your mom’s name, so those won’t work either. I don’t suppose you’d happen to know what other word he’d be likely to choose for this, do you?”

“How’d you know my mom’s name?” she asked, with an odd hitch in her voice. Roy glanced at her, concerned.

“Saw it on the back of a photo I found, a while back,” he explained. Her large brown eyes flicked to his quickly and then away. Roy had his head cocked to one side, genuine confusion on his face.

“I thought that maybe…oh, never mind,” she mumbled, turning pink. It clicked, then.

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching for her hand again. “He’s not gonna talk to me about personal stuff he won’t tell his own daughter. He’s not, you know, keeping you in the dark, or anything.”

“I know,” she murmured. “It’s stupid; I’m just being silly.” She returned the pressure of his warm fingers, but didn’t make a move to draw her hand away from his.

“Hey, I have an idea,” he said cautiously. “What if we go treasure hunting?” She looked up at him again, the question clear in her eyes. “You said before that sensei got rid of a lot of your mom’s things a few years back, right?”

“Yes…” she arched one eyebrow.

“Okay. Look, I know a woman who was widowed like a year after she got married. It was pretty tragic, and they were both really young, and Ada was a total wreck afterward, and…well, long story short, she couldn’t bear to look at Rick’s things, but she didn’t want to throw them out or give them away, either. So she boxed a bunch of them up and set them aside, thinking that one day she might be able to look at them again without bursting into tears.”

“You have a point, somewhere in there,” she said, faintly amused. He grinned.

“Well, what if sensei didn’t chuck all your mum’s things? Suppose he just boxed them up someplace? Have you ever gone looking?” She sat up straighter, intrigued.

“No,” she said slowly. “I just started to notice that some of her things had been moved or gone missing…her clothes and jewelry from their room, some of the pictures and little trinkets she had out, that sort of thing,” she mused. “That’s when I took her locket and a few other little things and hid them in my room.” Her free hand drifted to her collar, where Roy noticed the shimmer of a golden chain.

“But you’ve never looked, like in the attic or anything?” he persisted. “There is an attic somewhere, right?”

“There’s mostly books and old furniture up there, though,” she answered thoughtfully. “But if he actually kept all those things of hers…then I bet they’re in the barn.”

“The barn? But isn’t the hay loft too small to use for storage?” She shook her head.

“Not the hay loft. The room above it. Did you never notice that the barn looks bigger from the outside?”

“There’s a secret room?” Roy exclaimed. Riza laughed.

“Sort of. It’s meant to be a second story, but it’s really more of an attic, up in that big triangular space above the main part. You can only get into it from the hay loft, though, and I couldn’t figure out how to get up there on my own. I was always too afraid to climb up on a ladder,” she said. “It’s too rickety. But if you came with me, one of us could hold the ladder steady while the other one climbed.”

“Tomorrow, then?” he suggested.

“ _Tomorrow,_ tomorrow, or _today_ tomorrow?” Riza asked, glancing at the clock again. Roy debated a moment.

“Um… _tomorrow_ , tomorrow. I’ve got a lesson later today,” he explained. “By the time sensei’s finished lecturing me about my spectacular failure in cipher cracking, it’ll probably be too late.”

“In that case, we should probably get to bed,” she said, rising. Roy followed suit, wincing slightly as his joints cracked in protest.

“Ow. No arguments here,” he agreed, stretching his arms over his head.

She waited for him to put the rest of his papers in order and put out the light, and they walked upstairs in companionable silence. When they reached her bedroom, Riza stopped and turned to face him, her face earnest and pale in the dim light spilling out of her open doorway.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang. For listening, and everything,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome. And you know, I wouldn’t mind if you just called me Roy,” he added impulsively. Riza blinked, and then smiled a little regretfully.

“My father wouldn’t like for me to take that liberty,” she said gently. But before Roy had a chance to feel snubbed, she continued a little shyly. “But you can call me Riza, instead of Miss Hawkeye. If you wanted to, I mean.” Roy’s answering smile was bright enough to light up the shadowy hallway.

“Goodnight, then, Riza,” he replied cheerfully. “Or good morning, rather, I guess.”

“Good morning,” she replied with a soft laugh. “And sweet dreams.”

* * *

 

**July 21**

Two days later, Roy examined the wooden ladder in the hay loft of the barn with a doubtful expression.

“No wonder you were nervous about climbing this thing,” he said. “It looks like it’s about to disintegrate.”

“It’s not that bad,” Riza protested. “I’ve been using it to climb up into the loft since I was six. Or at least, I used to until Papa got the metal one a few years ago.” They both glanced over at the sturdy metal ladder they’d used to climb from the ground floor to the little loft, and Roy smiled.

“Yeah, well neither of us are six anymore,” he said, and gave the wooden ladder a thoughtful kick. “And the metal one would be too heavy to drag up _here_ …”

“You don’t think this one will bear our weight?” Riza asked. Roy just shrugged.

“Only one way to find out,” he said. Without further debate, he stepped onto the bottom rung.

“Wait, what are you doing? Shouldn’t I go first?” she objected, putting a hand on his sleeve. “I’m lighter.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’d let you risk your neck while I sit here and watch,” he replied. “Besides, if it’ll hold me, then we’ll know it can hold you. Just hold the bottom steady, won’t you?” She bit her lip, but couldn’t think of a counter argument. Finally she nodded and braced her arms on the smooth, worn sides of the ladder.

Roy moved slowly, carefully testing each creaky rung before resting his full weight on it. After what felt like hours (though it was really only about two minutes), he balanced at the top and gingerly pushed at the trapdoor above him. As it swung open, he was surprised to realize that the room beyond it was flooded in light. Clambering gracelessly through, he turned around to secure the top of the ladder so that Riza could follow him up.

“All right, be careful,” he admonished her. But she was already halfway up the ladder, her excitement clear on her normally stoic features.

“Oh,” she gasped as she cleared the final step, looking around her. “I didn’t think there’d be so…much.”

They stood side by side and surveyed the towers of boxes and old furniture around them. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunbeams that spilled in from the wide windows, liberally wreathed in cobwebs, on either side of the attic. The windows were unexpected, but very welcome, as Roy didn’t see any other source of light—it seemed the attic space was not wired for electricity. Rising slowly, he took a tentative step towards the closest window, Riza hot on his heels.

“Not a project for the faint of heart, I guess. So where should we start?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Let’s get these windows open a crack, first,” she said, stifling a cough. “It’s a bit stuffy in here.”

Roy gave her a boost up onto an old armoire so she could get at the window latch, and caught her neatly when she jumped down again a moment later. As warm as it already was in the attic, they both appreciated the faint breeze from the open windows. It alleviated at least a portion of the close, suffocating feel of the air around them, and the children found themselves once again staring in awe at the sheer number of _things_ packed into the space.

“How’d he even get all this up here?” Roy wondered aloud. “I always thought the place looked like it was one good gust of wind away from a cave in. But with all this stuff up here, I can’t believe it hasn’t collapsed in on itself already.” Riza chuckled.

“The floorboards down below might be a bit dodgy, but the foundation is solid. And the support beams are all still sound. It’s sturdier than it looks,” she said. Roy glanced at her with a sly quirk of his lips.

“It sure is,” he said. She didn’t seem to grasp his double meaning, though, as she simply brushed her dusty hands off on her thighs and looked around.

“Let’s try over here, first,” she said, indicating the end nearest the trap door they’d crawled in through.

“All right. Maybe we should split up,” he suggested. “I’ll start on this side, and you can start with those. Call out if you find anything interesting.” He was hoping that the boxes closest to the trapdoor would be the ones she was looking for, and he wanted her to be the first one to look through them.

Several minutes passed in relative silence as the children shifted boxes, rummaged their contents, and sneezed from the small clouds of dust their movements disturbed. And then Roy made a small curious noise in the back of his throat.

“What’ve you got?” Riza asked, leaning back so she could see him around a large trunk.

“Big box of glass Christmas ornaments. Pretty ones, too, all wrapped in tissue and newspaper,” he explained, holding one up so she could see it. “What about you? Anything good yet?”

“I just found a crate full of books…they all seem to be novels I’ve never heard of before,” she mused, glancing at the titles of the ones she held in each hand. “Wonder why they’re up here?”

“Not sensei’s taste, maybe?” Roy replied, looking around with interest. Riza had flipped one of them open and was skimming quickly through a few pages. But after a moment she blushed and closed it quickly.

“No, I think not,” she said in a rather pinched voice. Roy raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. “Romance,” she said shortly, dropping the books back in the crate and shifting it aside. Her blush deepened as Roy snickered.

“My aunt’s employees sometimes read those romance novels. The girls refer to them as ‘bodice-rippers.’ All heaving bosoms and lingering kisses with next to no plot. Total drivel, in my opinion.”

“Omigod,” Riza managed to say. Her face was now bright red, and buried in her hands. “I can’t believe…why can’t I go back and un-read what I just read?”

“Aw, can’t be that bad,” Roy teased. “Was someone running a feverish hand along the milky expanse of someone’s thigh? Or laving silken skin with a hot velvet tongue?”

“Not helping!” Riza choked, half laughing but still clearly embarrassed.

“What were the character’s names? The names are always my favorite part,” Roy said, calmly closing yet another box of Christmas decorations and reaching for a third. “They always have to be something totally outrageous.”

“Solange and Darius,” she sputtered. “What the hell kind of name is Solange, anyway?” Roy laughed.

“Oh, those are good ones! I will never understand how people read those without laughing the whole time at the dumb names,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, the plots are bad enough, but—oh, hey, check this out!” He held up an unwrapped teacup, a pale ivory thing with delicate blue and green flowers along the edge. Riza forgot her embarrassment for a moment.

“China? I wonder if it’s their wedding pattern,” she said, creeping closer so that she could take the teacup from Roy. “Pretty,” she murmured, turning it over in her hands.

“Yeah, it must be…there’re plates in here too,” Roy confirmed, shifting the tissue-wrapped bundles. “You wanna take any of it with us when we go? A teacup, maybe?”

“No, that’s all right. I’d only be scared to use any of it in case I broke it or something. But it’s nice to know that it’s up here,” she replied, replacing the teacup in Roy’s outstretched hand. He re-wrapped it and gently placed it in the box with the others, and Riza carefully pried open another box in her section.

“I suppose we should try and hurry it up a bit,” Roy said, swiping a hand over his damp brow.

“Yes. It’ll only get warmer the longer we’re here,” she agreed, with a cursory glance at the contents of her box.

“Mm. This one has more china in it, and those three are all just Christmas decorations,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. “I’m heading this way next.”

“Right. Oh!” she gasped. Roy stopped and turned back towards her.

“Find something?” But she’d frozen, kneeling in front of an old steamer trunk with her hands still resting on the lid she’d just opened. “Riza?”

“This dress,” she murmured reverently. “I remember this dress.” She looked up at last, her eyes bright, and smiled at him. “I—I’ve found some of her clothes.” Roy picked his way back across the room and crouched down alongside her.

“Jackpot,” he breathed. “What’s that one?”

Roy watched as Riza ran her hands slowly over the old, familiar fabrics and recalled the happier times in which they’d been worn by a loving mother and doting wife. He listened quietly as she fumbled out half remembered stories of picking strawberries in the garden with her mother where she wore this dress, or about summer picnics at the lake when her mother had worn this hat and possibly these very ribbons in her hair. He smiled even as his own heart ached for the various small memories he’d never have with his own long deceased parents.

Wistfully, Roy rubbed the back of his hand across a pale yellow satiny sleeve and wondered whether Riza’s mother had smiled when she’d worn this dress for the first time, gazing into her mirror while her five year old daughter looked on in awe, spinning so that the skirt billowed out around her and made her look like some sort of beautiful, exotic flower to the child’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Riza said in a small voice. Roy jerked himself out of his melancholy thoughts and looked up at her.

“Whatever for?” he asked, surprised.

“Rambling on like this. Boring you with silly, childish stories,” she murmured, looking away.

“You aren’t boring me. And they aren’t silly,” he said softly. “I think it’s wonderful that you remember those things so clearly. It’s…I think it’s nice.” His throat suddenly felt a little tight, and his voice sounded strange even to his own ears. “I’m…I guess I’m just a little jealous,” he admitted. Riza glanced shyly back at him, twining her slender fingers in the lacey handkerchief she held.

“I don’t mean to rub it in,” she said softly. Roy swallowed hard.

“I know you don’t. You aren’t. I mean, I’m not gonna lie: I do wish I had memories of my folks like you do of your mom. But it’s not bad for you to talk about it. It’s not,” he insisted when she shook her head. “Just because I don’t have a boxful of my parent’s things somewhere to look at doesn’t mean I’m not happy that you **do**.” Riza studied his face for a long moment.

“I’m still sorry,” she said at last. “For bringing it up, if nothing else. We should probably go back, now,” she said, still twisting the fragment of lace in her hands.

Roy simply smiled, with only the slightest trace of sorrow in his eyes.

“You know, I keep thinking about something my aunt once said to one of her girls…‘Happiness is not a zero-sum game.’ You shouldn’t be upset at someone else’s happiness just because you don’t have the thing that made them happy for yourself. Being jealous of their happiness is just pointless, because their happiness in no way prevents you from being happy. At least, that’s what I always thought that she meant. If that even makes sense?”

“No, it does,” Riza said thoughtfully. She’d stopped the nervous movements of her hands. “You’re trying to tell me I shouldn’t feel sorry because I have happy memories attached to these things, right?” He smiled crookedly.

“Yep. So stop feeling guilty. Aunt Chris would probably wallop me for making you feel bad if she knew,” he said.

“Your aunt sounds like an interesting woman,” Riza ventured with another shy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Roy snorted, shaking his head. “Point is, I AM glad we found all this stuff, even if it’s not something I have of my own. So please don’t feel bad on my account. Did you really want to go, or was there anything you wanted to keep looking for?”

“Um…there were some photographs I’d like to find, but we can look for those another time if you’d rather?” she asked uncertainly.

“Well, it is getting warmer…let’s try two more boxes each then, and we’ll try again another day if we don’t find them this time. Sound good?” Riza’s face cleared somewhat, and she nodded.

“Which one should we try next?” she asked, carefully folding the dresses back into the trunk. Roy eyed a heavy black box beside them that looked to be made of some sort of metallic alloy.

“How about this one? Looks like it was made to last, anyway. Good place to keep something fragile like pictures, right?”

The lid came off the box with a rusty squeal, revealing neat stacks of papers.

“Hm. Legal papers, I guess,” Roy said, turning over a few. “Yeah, look. Here’s your birth certificate. And this one must be your parent’s marriage record.”

“I wonder why he put them up here?” Riza wondered aloud. “Aren’t those the sorts of things you should keep in a secure place?”

“Maybe they’re duplicates?” Roy suggested. “Anyway, at least you know they’re here, now, in case you need them later.

“Maybe I should take some of this with me,” she murmured.

“Or maybe we should get a more secure ladder so you can come up here at a moment’s notice and grab them if you need,” Roy suggested. “I can ask sensei some stuff about transmuting wood in our next lesson…and then I could make it out of some of the wood out back, if you want.” Riza smiled at him.

“That would be great, thank you.”

After that, they found a box of what seemed to be old camera equipment, another with (empty) picture frames stacked haphazardly inside, and another small trunk with a frothy white dress inside. Roy thought it looked familiar, and let out a soft “ah” of understanding when Riza pulled out her locket to compare the dress to her mother’s wedding photo.

“How are these clothes not full of moth holes and what not?” he asked, gingerly touching the delicate fabric of the wedding gown.

“Because of the cedar. Moths hate it,” she explained, pointing to a shingle of the fragrant reddish wood that had been hidden in the folds of the tulle skirt. “I wonder if I should put more of it in here?”

In the end, they didn’t find the photos she’d been hoping to find, but they left the attic with a small bundle of official-looking documents and a silver picture frame Riza said she wanted for her room, as well as a delicate looking lace handkerchief with her mother’s initials embroidered in one corner. And in spite of the slightly heavy turn their conversation had taken before, both Riza and Roy were looking forward to future explorations of the attic space.

And when Roy sat at his desk later that evening, he thought of Riza’s bright eyes and soft, dreamy smile, and reached for his notebook with a hopeful fluttering in his stomach.

“No way to know for sure unless I ask, right?” he whispered.

_“I know this might seem like an odd question, auntie, but I’ve been wondering lately: do you have anything that used to belong to my mom or dad? Letters or photos or little mementos? You see, Riza and I have been exploring the attic…”_

 


	6. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is uncharacteristically sentimental and Berthold engages in some teacher/student bonding over late night tea.

**August 10**

Chris Mustang found herself blinking away tears for the first time since…since as long as she could remember, though she knew she must have cried as a young girl. She hadn’t shed a tear when she’d learned of the untimely death of her only brother and his young wife: there had been far too much to do, what with the funeral arrangements to make and a young child to care for. She’d mourned them, of course, but her grief had been of the silent and tearless variety. She’d been determined to keep her eyes dry for the sake of the orphaned child, and when Chris was determined, nothing stopped her.

And yet here she sat, some dozen years after the fact now, getting all sentimental and weepy over a box of trinkets. _Damn that brat_ , she thought, dabbing her eyes carefully to prevent smearing her mascara. _Asking about his parents’ things out of the blue like that._ Then again, she’d been the idiot to listen to him and to actually make the trek down to the dimly lit basement in search of the things she’d hidden away down there.

There wasn’t really much. She’d kept a pair of charming little cherry wood end tables and an old hope chest with ivory inlays, which were in her bedroom. All of the other furniture had been sold in an estate sale, and the proceeds placed into an account under Roy’s name. His mother’s jewels, or at least the few decent pieces she’d had, were in Chris’s own safe deposit box. Two exquisite strings of pearls, an opal ring set in old gold and another with a lovely sapphire flanked by tiny diamonds, along with her wedding and engagement rings and an apple jade pendant: these were all earmarked for Roy’s future bride, should she want them. Everything else was in the dusty little box currently sitting in Chris’s parlor.

A few books, several photo albums, a crinkly bundle of love letters tied with a faded pink silk ribbon, an engraved pocket knife in remarkably good condition, and a rather beautiful family bible bound in dark blue leather with pages tipped in silver. Inside, records of births, deaths and marriages of the Mustang family for the past seven generations had been carefully updated in varying shades of ink, in varying scripts. The most recent was written in the fragile, elegant script of Roy’s own mother, recording the birth of her first and only child. Reading over that once-familiar handwriting was what had started Chris’s eyes burning.

Hadn’t she ever told Roy that the quilt on his bed had been handmade by his mother? Maybe she should remind him in her next let—OH! Chris sucked in a breath and dug through the box again. She was certain she’d saved it, wondering if any of her girls would take an interest in crafts…here! This little book, bound in ice blue satin. It wasn’t a book at all, but a journal of sorts.

Roy’s mother had filled its pages with little inspirational phrases and quotes, recipes, knitting patterns, random sketches, and her quilting patterns. It wasn’t something a teenage boy would normally be interested in, but it was still something that his mother had held very dear, once. She’d put a little piece of herself in these pages, and surely that was something that Roy would appreciate looking over.

“Good lord, not again,” Chris grumbled, dabbing at the moisture in her eyes yet again. “Who’d have thought I’d be brought so low by such sentimental musings?”

* * *

 

**August 15**

“Mr. Mustang? Are you—is everything all right?” Riza’s concerned voice cut into Roy’s reverie.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in,” Roy said, looking up from the letter in his lap. “I’m sorry, what’d you say?”

“I just asked you if everything was okay. I’ve been calling you to lunch for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, right, sorry!” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Everything’s fine. Or at least, I think so,” he continued, following her to the kitchen. “I’ve just had a letter from my aunt.” Riza looked at him quickly as she handed him his plate.

“Not bad news, I hope?” she said anxiously.

“No, no, nothing bad,” Roy assured her, sitting in his usual place at the table. “She just…doesn’t really sound like her usual self, so I was wondering what’s got into her. That’s all.”

“What do you mean? Is she ill?” Riza frowned, worried.

“No, not that…It’s kinda hard to explain,” he murmured, and took a bite of his sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Roy finally spoke up again. “A few weeks ago, I asked Aunt Chris whether she’d kept any of my parents’ things,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging a bit as if to show it didn’t bother him one way or the other whether she had.

“And did she?” Riza prompted gently, not the least bit fooled by his feigned indifference.

“That’s just it—she never answered my question. I just figured she hadn’t and didn’t want to tell me outright, which is really unlike her. She’d usually pretty direct, and she’s never tried to sugarcoat bad news for me before.” He shrugged again, brow creased in confusion. “So I dropped it.”

“But she’s written to you now?” Riza asked.

“Yeah,” he said. Which was also odd behavior, though Roy didn’t mention that part. He’d never really explained that his usual correspondents were actually his aunt’s employees, whom he considered to be surrogate sisters, and Riza hadn’t thought to ask. Of course, Chris always added a sentence or two to their letters when they wrote, or simply asked Elinor to send her love if she were too busy with the bar, but this time she’d actually written Roy a whole letter all on her own, without any input or additions from the girls. Roy wasn’t sure what to make of this.

“I dunno. Maybe I made her feel guilty that she hadn’t saved anything of theirs, or something,” he guessed. “Anyway, I have this old patchwork quilt back home, on my bed. Aunt Chris has never said a single thing about it, not once, in all the years it’s been there. And now she suddenly tells me that my mom made it for me, before I was born. I’ve had something of hers all this time and I had no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

“I wonder why she didn’t just say so when you asked,” Riza mused.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering. And she’s also sent me this,” he added, reaching into his pocket. He held out the small blue book for Riza’s inspection.

Riza took it from him carefully, after wiping her hands thoroughly on her napkin. Interest bloomed on her gentle features as she turned the little book over in her hands.

“One of her books?”

“No, she says it belonged to my mother. It’s a journal of sorts,” Roy explained, reaching for his drink.

“Oh,” she breathed, awestruck.

“Take a look,” he offered, gesturing with his free hand.

Odd, as much as he’d been longing to have some little item as a memento of his parents, he had no qualms in handing it over freely to this girl whom he’d known for less than half a year. And Riza was proving herself worthy of his trust in her. She handled his odd little treasure with the appropriate reverence, gently turning over page after page as though it were printed on delicate onionskin rather than plain, ordinary writing paper.

“Hm…a quote from Wordsworth, I think, and this one sounds like…Blake, maybe?” she mused, skimming through the elegant script. “Rossetti, Milton, and…a sketch. Of a bird. Are these recipes? Yes, apple cobbler, honey wheat bread, lemon cake…the seed stitch? Oh, knitting. Or is it a crochet pattern? I never learned either, so they both look the same to me...pretty. Oh!”

“What?” Roy interjected, fascinated by her vague murmurings as she flipped though the little blue journal.

“She’s written about making a quilt from old clothing,” she explained, still looking down at the page. “You know, cutting up dresses and things that have gone out of fashion but whose fabrics aren’t worn out yet.”

“Yeah? Huh. I wonder if mine’s made from clothes,” he said, intrigued.

“Maybe, but if she made it for you, then it’s more likely that she chose specific fabrics that she liked, to match the colors and theme of your nursery and such…” she trailed off, still staring down at the book.

“Do you quilt?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. Riza looked up at last.

“Not me, but there are a few of the older ladies in town I could ask to teach me, if I wanted to learn,” she replied. She gently closed the book again and bit her lip, which Roy had come to realize was a sign that something was bothering her.

“Mr. Mustang,” she said quietly, a trace of the old nervousness in her eyes. “May I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” he replied.

“About this journal…I know it’s your mother’s and it must be special to you, so it’s really all right if you say no, I completely understand,” she began, speaking very quickly. “But…do you suppose I could—would you mind if I copied out this one pattern? I’ll be really careful, I promise,” she finished anxiously.

“Oh! Yeah, of course, go ahead. I trust you,” he replied, a little surprised. “Copy out anything in there you’d like.”

“Thank you,” she said warmly.

“Sure. I’m sure my mom would just be happy that someone is getting some use of out her patterns. As great as it is to have something of hers, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to take up quilting or knitting,” he said drily.

“Never say never,” she replied with a smile. “Though I suppose you could just transmute yourself a scarf or a quilt if you really needed one, with the right formula.”

“True, but it wouldn’t be the same as a handmade one,” he grinned.

“Without the added sentimental value of the effort that went into making it, you mean?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what it is,” he said. “It just _means_ more if you know someone put their heart into making it for you. Or if you made it yourself, being able to really enjoy the end result while knowing the amount of effort that you put into it, you know?”

“I do,” she said, sobering a little. They were quiet for a moment.

“You’re thinking of using some of your mum’s old things to make a quilt, aren’t you?” Roy asked suddenly. Was this topic still a tender one? Tender, but not off limits, it seemed, as she nodded shyly and smiled again.

“It’s not like they’re doing anyone any good sitting in a dusty old barn,” she said.

“Hey, speaking of the barn,” Roy said with a brilliant smile. “I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you.”

“The ladder?” she cried eagerly.

“Yep!” he beamed at her. “The circle’s ready; I just need to add the raw materials and we’re good to go.”

“What did Papa say when you asked him about it?” Riza asked. Not that he’d be angry with them for going into the attic, but she wondered if he’d figured out why Roy was suddenly asking about wood densities and such.

“I didn’t have to ask anything, actually,” Roy admitted, a slight crease appearing on his forehead. “I was all set to ask him how to repair something made of pine, when he suddenly starts lecturing me about the different kinds of wood and the properties and strengths of each of them.”

“Really?” Riza asked incredulously.

“I know. D’you think he knows we were exploring up there?”

“Probably,” she replied, with a thoughtful frown. “Every time I think he’s not paying attention, he surprises me with something like that.”

“Well, at least we know he doesn’t mind us rifling around up in the attic, then,” Roy smiled. “He’d never have told me all that about the wood otherwise.” He’d been a _little_ worried that his teacher would be annoyed with him for snooping around, although he’d said from the beginning that Roy was allowed to go wherever he liked on the property (except his lab, of course.)

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” Riza said solemnly.

“What’s that?” Roy asked, instantly curious. She looked so serious, he found himself holding his breath and waiting for her answer. She let the silence drag out dramatically before she slowly shook her head.

“There’s no hidden treasure up in the attic,” she said.

For a moment, Roy just stared at her. Her eyes sparkled, and her lip quirked, and then both teens burst out laughing.

“No, I guess not, huh?” Roy managed. “Unless of course, he’s just using us to fetch it down for him.”

“Oh yes, all those chests of gold must be heavy,” she agreed, giggling.

“The two of us should be able to manage if we work together,” he said. “But if it’s some sort of cursed treasure, then I want no part of it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of ghosts,” she teased. “Big, strong alchemist like you couldn’t protect himself from a few spirits?”

“All bets are off if there’re skeletons in the wardrobe up there,” he laughed. “I mean, some of those chests and crates looked plenty big enough to hide a body in.”

“Oh, don’t worry. All the bodies are buried in the basement,” she quipped.

“From former treasure-hunters, I presume?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Of course not. Just the former _students_ ,” she grinned wickedly, and Roy nearly fell off his chair laughing.

“Dead men tell no tales, right? But before you dispose of me, you may as well get some use out of me,” he managed, still giggling weakly. “Come on, let’s go and see about that ladder.”

* * *

 

**August 23**

_It was a dark and stormy night…no, really._

 

Roy sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. Another flash of lightning lit up his room, followed closely by a deafening peal of thunder. Shivering, though the night wasn’t the least bit cold, he crept out of his bed and pushed aside his curtains to look out the window.

_Third time this week,_ he thought. Riza certainly hadn’t been kidding about the August thunderstorms. And this one seemed to be more severe than the others he’d experienced.

It wasn’t actually raining at the moment, although what he could see of the ground below was definitely damp. The electrical storm waged on in the clouds above, and Roy found himself fascinated by the streaks of forked lightening that chased each other across the sky.

He wondered, with another shiver, how often the lightning struck buildings around here, and whether they had lightning rods on the tops of their barns and things, as most of the buildings in Central did. They must have _something_ similar here, he was certain. Otherwise they’d have terrible fires to contend with after each storm, since most of the buildings were constructed of flammable materials.

Although the frequency of the blinding flashes and deafening booms seemed to be decreasing somewhat, Roy still felt too uneasy to go back to bed. Maybe some chamomile tea would help him sleep, he thought, and pulled on the rumpled shirt and cotton pajama pants he’d discarded earlier in the evening. They were much too warm to sleep in this time of year, though for decency’s sake he wouldn’t dare wander about the house wearing only his boxers.

Padding along the hallway in bare feet, Roy cast a long, wistful look at Riza’s closed door. No light shone from beneath it, unfortunately, so there was no excuse to knock and ask her to join him. He almost went right back to his room when he realized that the idea of hot chamomile tea was much less comforting _without_ the promise of Riza’s company in the bright warmth of the kitchen.

But he _was_ already awake.  And the storm hadn’t entirely moved on, yet, so there was little chance of falling back to sleep any time soon. Roy sighed and plodded down the stairs anyway.

_“Don’t be childish,”_ he thought to himself. _“You don’t need someone to hold your hand. It’s not like you’re afraid of thunder. It’s just a bit loud, that’s all. The noise is keeping you up, nothing more.”_

He was so preoccupied with his internal monologue that he didn’t register the fact that the kitchen light was on. Or that someone was already standing at the stove waiting for the kettle to boil. He stopped short just inside the doorway, astonished.

“Not the Hawkeye you expected to see, I presume?” his teacher asked in a dry tone, without even turning around to look at him.

“Hawkeye-sensei! No, that’s not—I-I didn’t—” Roy stammered, confused. But curiosity quickly overcame embarrassment. “How’d you even know it was me?” he asked. The man hadn’t even glanced his way when he first entered the room. Berthold finally turned to face him with an amused expression.

“My daughter has never made quite that much noise coming down the stairs, my boy,” he answered.

“Oh. Right,” Roy said, feeling faintly foolish. Stupid question, really. Especially considering how often he had personally commented on Riza’s propensity for silent, stealthy movement.

“Tea?” Master Hawkeye said, gesturing to the steaming kettle.

“Um, yes, please.” Roy rubbed his bleary eyes and settled at the kitchen table in his usual place, watching his teacher moving quietly through the kitchen with mugs and honey. “Did the storm wake you, as well, sir?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Berthold replied, fussing with the kettle. “I have always had trouble sleeping during a thunderstorm. Something about the electricity in the air makes me restless. Antsy, if you will.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Roy mumbled.

“It’s a most unpleasant sensation, and one that makes rest impossible,” his teacher continued as though Roy had not spoken. “Here you are,” he added, handing Roy a steaming mug.

“Thanks,” Roy murmured gratefully, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic.

“It also makes it extremely difficult to concentrate on equations and sigils. Hence my presence in the kitchen rather than the laboratory at such an hour,” he explained, lowering himself into the chair across from Roy.

“Yeah, I can see how you’d have trouble focusing on your research,” Roy agreed with a grimace as another loud rumble shook the very foundations of the house. His teacher smiled wryly.

“Yes, the noise is distracting indeed. Although I suspect my discomfort has something to do with the manner in which the electrostatic discharge affects the atmosphere. I’ve never been able to test the theory in a controlled laboratory experiment, of course, but such is my belief,” he said.

Silence fell as the two of them sipped tentatively at the still scalding liquid.

It was strange, in a way, and yet not strange at all. Roy was sure he’d never even seen Hawkeye-sensei in the kitchen before, and yet here he sat as comfortably as though they’d been meeting like this every night since Roy’s arrival. It wasn’t as awkward as Roy might have expected, even with Berthold’s piercing gaze raking over him, cataloguing and deducing and filing away all the little details he read from Roy’s posture and expression and tone of voice. Roy had grown used to being examined like a specimen on a slide, he supposed, so it didn’t really bother him as it might have done several months before. Although he suddenly wondered what it was that his teacher observed.

Above them, another peal of thunder crashed, and Roy jumped in his seat.

“I see we share a dislike of electrical storms,” Berthold said gently. Roy hoped his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. He ran an unsteady hand through his sleep-ruffled hair.

“We don’t get them quite like this back home,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I guess they make me a little nervous still.”

“You will grow more accustomed to them in time,” his teacher replied with a sage nod. Roy pricked up his ears. He had been wondering lately, how long Master Hawkeye would consent to tutor him before he was sent packing. And a phrase like that implied that his teacher intended to keep him around—at least long enough to “grow accustomed” to the inclement weather.

“I hope so,” he replied, carefully. A small, enigmatic smile appeared on Berthold’s face.

“I’ve found that making a soothing cup of tea provides an excellent distraction from those things which cause me uneasiness, although congenial conversation is certainly beneficial as well,” he said. “However, I am afraid you will have to settle for my company tonight, rather than my daughter’s.”

“I take it the storms never disturb Miss Hawkeye, then?” Roy asked boldly, looking down at his tea with calculated nonchalance. It was as close as he was willing to get—there were just certain topics he didn’t quite dare to discuss openly. What, if anything, his teacher might think of the friendship between his student and his daughter was near the top of Roy’s list. He could almost hear his aunt’s voice whispering in his ear, telling him to listen to what _wasn’t_ being said as much as what _was._

“No,” Berthold was saying, slightly amused. “Even if the noise woke her, my daughter would prefer to watch the lightning from her bedroom windows. It thrills, but does not frighten her.”

“She’s a brave girl,” Roy answered solemnly. He felt his teacher’s piercing gaze upon him again, and raised his eyes to meet it, fearlessly.

“That she is,” Berthold said very softly.

Roy felt that there was an extra weight to the words, somehow. As though there was another layer of meaning, as though his teacher was admitting to something wonderful and precious and secret.

Another flash of lightening illuminated the world outside of the kitchen windows, and the lights above them flickered. Roy knew that he must choose his words carefully if he wished to continue the current conversation. But before he could marshal his thoughts, Berthold spoke up again.

“So how did your repair on the ladder turn out?” he asked, somewhat abruptly.

Roy hesitated for a less than half a second, before grinning cheekily. No point in denying it. Clearly he already knew why Roy had been fussing about with the ladder in the first place.

“Great, once I accounted for the difference in density between the cedar and the pine,” he replied. “It’s much sturdier now than it was before. Even Miss Hawkeye thought so,” he added, slyly.

“Good, good,” his teacher nodded gravely, and then fixed him with another of those burning stares, willing him to understand. “I am…pleased with your progress, Mr. Mustang. I have written to your aunt to discuss the terms of your continued apprenticeship.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roy said respectfully, as a warm feeling flooded his belly.

If an offer of extended apprenticeship wasn’t tacit approval of him (and his growing friendship with Riza,) then Roy didn’t know what was. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but his teacher simply inclined his head in acknowledgement and calmly sipped from his mug.

“And how are your lovely sisters, my boy?”

Roy blinked. His teacher had never asked him about his personal life before, and he couldn’t imagine what brought on his sudden interest.

“They’re very well, sir, thank you. I’ve just had a letter from them.”

“I see. Tell me about them, if you please.”

In spite of the suddenness of the odd request, Roy found himself telling his teacher all about his adopted family members. Ingenuous Ada, who’d been widowed at nineteen; Dependable Juliet, who showed her affection with food and wanted to be a military investigator; Gentle Elinor, the most calm and sensible of the girls and the de facto older sister of the lot; Sweet Lucy, whose bright, cheerful face and honest kindness made loving her irresistible; Brave Violet, who took late night classes in the hopes of earning her teaching credential; Dreamy Claire, who spent all her spare time either reading or writing; Clever Veronica, who assisted her private investigator father when she wasn’t working with Chris; and Feisty Sophie, who was a genius with a needle and thread and whose red-gold hair was the secret envy of the whole of Chris’s establishment.

Berthold listened with the same calm gravity as always, occasionally asking a question or making a comment.

 “You care for these young women very much,” Berthold said. “Though none are your true blood relatives.” Neither statement was a question, but Roy felt compelled to answer anyway.

“Yes, sir. Blood relation doesn’t really factor into it. It’s…I dunno; I suppose you could say they’re close friends, although that doesn’t quite feel like the right word, either,” he mused. “I’ve known most of them for years, now, and I’ve lived with some of them. The ones who rent rooms with my aunt, I mean. They’ve just become a part of my family.”

He looked up to find Berthold’s steady blue eyes fixed on his face.

“I see,” he breathed softly. Again, Roy found himself wondering _what_ exactly it was that his master saw. As he was pondering this question, he noticed something else.

The thunder had moved on.

“Oh!” he said, looking out the window. “It’s stopped. I didn’t realize.”

“As I said, congenial conversation makes for an excellent distraction,” Berthold said, rising gracefully and gliding to the sink with the empty mugs. He moved as soundlessly as his daughter, Roy noticed. “You should try to get some rest before sunrise, my boy,” he added over his shoulder.

“Yes, you’re right. Thanks for the tea. And for everything else, sensei,” Roy said, dragging himself to his feet. Berthold turned to smile at him.

“Until the next time, then. Good morning. And sweet dreams.”

Roy was crawling back into his four poster bed before he recalled that another late night conversation, weeks ago now, had ended with the exact same words. And the voice in his head that sounded like his aunt murmured that it was no coincidence.

He was still smiling when he fell asleep.


	7. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy befriends some of the locals, teaches Riza a few tricks, and is the unwitting subject of an arranged marriage plot being negotiated in the back room of his aunt's cabaret.

**September 3**

_“Dear Aunt Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_I thought that the weather would cool off some after all the thunderstorms we’ve had lately. But it’s been even worse the past few days. Yesterday was especially horrible._

_Riza and I had been listening to a radio program, but it was one we’d both heard before. The heat was making us lazy and irritable, so neither of us wanted to move, or do much of anything at all. I was lying on the sofa, and Miss Riza was draped sideways over the armchair, each of us trying to convince the other to get up and switch the radio station or just turn the damn thing off. Finally Riza decided she’d had enough. She jumped up, turned the radio off, and glared down at me with her hands on her hips._

_‘That’s it. I can’t stand this anymore. We’re going on a walk,’ she said._

_I told her she must be out of her mind if she thought I was going to go hiking out in the miserable, sticky heat, but she just shook her head and got this stubborn glint in her eye, and told me it was better than lying around the stuffy living room for the third day in a row. I grumbled a bit, but I followed her to the kitchen and found myself making sandwiches while she filled a thermos with lemonade._

_She led me into the woods, but not along the usual path, choosing instead an unmarked trail that I’d never noticed before. I had to admit that it was much cooler under the trees, and for a while I thought that a cool clearing someplace ahead was the only destination she had in mind. Then we came over the crest of a hill, where the trees thinned out and we could feel a nice breeze. But instead of a clearing, there was a lake ahead of us. I had no idea it was there, even after six months of wandering around and exploring these woods._

_‘You’re right; this is much better than listening to another trite radio drama,’ I told her. She smiled, and said it was one of her secret hiding places._

_Only, as we soon found out, her hidden lake wasn’t as secret as she’d thought.”_

 

“No, no, you need one that’s a bit flatter…here, try this one,” Roy said, offering Riza a small, smooth stone.

She dropped the defective rock into the water at their feet with a soft plunk, and then positioned herself as he’d instructed. Roy frowned slightly and moved behind her to adjust her stance.

“All right,” he said, placing on hand on her wrist and guiding her arm back and forth in an arc. “Just like that, and then you flick your wrist like _this_ as you let it go. Ok?”

“Ok,” she replied doubtfully. Roy stepped back, gave her the “ _go on, then_ ” gesture, and smiled brightly. With another rather skeptical look at him, Riza reared back and let her stone fly. It skipped over the placid surface of the lake three times.

“Three! Not bad!” he beamed at her, and promptly began scanning the ground around their feet for another suitable stone to throw.

“How on earth did you get that first one to skip _seven_ times?” she asked with a faint trace of envy.

“Loads of practice,” he answered, shrugging. “There’s this pond in a park near my aunt’s house, and I spent a lot of time skipping rocks when I was…er, when I was…bored.”

“When you were cutting classes, you mean?” Riza asked with an arched eyebrow. Roy grinned somewhat sheepishly, and Riza couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Well, it wasn’t all the time, or anything,” he chuckled. “But there were a few teachers I didn’t mind avoiding.” He waded a few steps farther out into the lake, careful not to wet the cuffs of his rolled up pants. Riza followed cautiously, as the hemline of her dress was still well above the water.

“The water feels nice, doesn’t it?” she said, bending to pluck another stone from the beneath the clear, cold water.

“Yeah, it’s fantastic,” he sighed. “How come no one goes swimming out here? Seems a shame not to.”

“Too far from town, I suppose,” she frowned. “I’ve wondered whether anyone else even knows about this place, though clearly _someone_ must,” she said, gesturing to the wooden dock a short distance away. “But I’ve spent whole days just reading and dangling my feet in the water, and never seen a soul.” Something about her tone and the choice of words made Roy shoot her an odd look.

“What, don’t _you_ come here to swim?” Roy asked, incredulous. Riza flushed.

“Not really, no.”

“What do you mean, ‘not really?’” he asked, watching her more closely now. She was biting her lips, and didn’t answer right away. “Don’t tell me…” he said slowly. “Riza…Don’t you know how to swim?” Her eyes flashed, and her cheeks flushed darker.

“No. I don’t,” she said shortly, balling her hands into fists at her sides. She stood up straighter and raised her chin defiantly, as though daring him to tease her about it.

“Want me to teach you, then?” he said brightly, instead. She blinked rapidly in surprise, and Roy had to bite his tongue to hold back his laugh. It was too easy to wind her up, sometimes. “Come on, I’m serious. It’s not all _that_ difficult. I can at least show you enough so you won’t drown if you ever fall into a body of water unexpectedly.” She rolled her eyes at that, but started to smile again.

“Because I’m so likely to encounter large, unexpected bodies of water in the middle of the town I’ve lived in my whole life?” she asked, amused.

“Hey, you never know! Suppose one of those damn thunderstorms drops enough rain to flood the creek by your place? Or turns one of those old wheat fields into a swamp? Or…or a water main bursts and floods your basement? Then what would you do?”

“Keep away from it. Find higher ground. _Not_ go down into the basement,” she answered, dryly.

“Aw, come on. You’re not scared, are you?” he teased. In one smooth movement, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the grassy bank behind them, where they’d left the bag with their picnic lunch. His pants followed a moment later.

With a slightly wicked grin, he turned and cut cleanly through the water, surfacing several dozen feet farther away from shore as Riza looked on with mild alarm.

“Mr. Mustang, be careful,” she said weakly. “It’s deeper than it looks…” He tossed his wet hair back and waved.

“Come on!” he cried. “It’ll be fun!”

“What, you mean right now?!” she sputtered. “But—” she glanced down at her flimsy summer dress with a mixture of dismay and confusion. Roy answered her unspoken question.

“Oh, just come in! Your dress will dry in five minutes once we’re out of the water. We’ll just lie in the sun for a while before we head back. Come on!”

“But…but I don’t—” she stammered, nervously brushing her hands over her skirt. Roy ducked under the water again, swimming back towards her this time.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said solemnly, standing up again just a few feet away from her. “I promise.” And he stretched out his hand. Water ran down his bare chest in tiny little rivulets, and his wet boxer shorts clung to his hips in a way that would have made Riza flush if she’d been able to tear her eyes away from his face.

Roy could see her uncertainty at war with the trust she had in him and in their friendship. She _wanted_ to believe him. He’d never let her down before now, but he’d also never asked her to essentially risk her life, before. Roy opened his mouth to tell her to forget it; that they didn’t have to if she honestly was scared of the water. But then Riza slowly reached out and placed her hand in his.

“If you let me drown, I’ll haunt you from beyond the grave,” she said, seriously. Roy grinned.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They waded deeper, until the water came just to their waists. Reminding Riza that her feet could still touch the bottom, and that he would stay right beside her the whole time, Roy spent several minutes showing her how to float on her back. He gently prodded her spine whenever she started to fold in on herself and sink, always keeping a steady hand outstretched beneath her in case she floundered, while steadfastly ignoring the semi-transparent material of her dress as it billowed out around her in the water.

Living in a houseful of women who were very comfortable with themselves and their bodies meant that Roy had more practical knowledge of the female figure than most boys his age. His aunt had always been very matter-of-fact about the human body (and indeed, had often volunteered information Roy wished she’d kept to herself), and he’d seen his ‘sisters’ in varying states of undress on a fairly regular basis since he was old enough to recognize that boys and girls were built differently. Roy was therefore far less likely than most teenagers to be reduced to a stammering, sweating mass of lust and nerves at the mere sight of a scantily clad girl.

He _was_ still a teenage boy, however, and there were just certain things he couldn’t help but notice about Riza’s nascent curves. So he reminded himself that Riza was his friend, that she trusted him, and that he wanted to be worthy of that hard-earned trust. And he very carefully kept his hands (and eyes) from wandering, taking pains to touch her only when necessary. It was worth the effort, he decided, to keep things from becoming awkward between them. Since Riza remained oblivious to his internal struggles, her innocence only reinforced his decision and made it easier to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

Once Riza felt comfortable just being in the water, confident in her ability to stay afloat on her own, she allowed Roy to lead her even farther out, where the water came up above their shoulders. Over the course of the next hour, Roy taught Riza how to propel herself under the surface of the water, as he’d done earlier, and how to hold her breath and slowly let it out through her nose so she could stay under longer. He had just started to explain the mechanics of the breaststroke (as she treaded water contentedly beside him) when they heard voices approaching the lake from the trees behind them.

Roy drew in a sharp breath, looking over at Riza and the clingy material of her wet sundress. He was also painfully aware of his own distinct lack of clothing. If anyone from the village saw them together, they’d make assumptions. The gossip would spread like wildfire, and Riza would be mortified and ashamed.

“I thought you said no one else came out here?” he said softly. Riza started to stand, her eyes wide. But she glanced down at herself, blanched, and sank back under the water.

“They don’t,” she breathed. She wasn’t the swearing type, but Roy could see the expletive on her face as plain as though she’d shouted it.

He looked around quickly, noting the thick clumps of reeds growing along the edge of the lake.

“Over there—?” he gestured to the reeds with his chin, and Riza nodded quickly.

“Come on,” she whispered, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging him towards the foliage. He shook his head.

“They’ll see my clothes and our other stuff,” he explained. “But they won’t know that I’m not here alone. Go!” Understanding flickered over her face, and she squeezed his arm briefly in gratitude before ducking under the water and gliding noiselessly to the water’s edge, just as he’d taught her. Roy waited until she was safely ensconced in the reeds before propelling himself closer to the dock, splashing noisily.

All the time, the voices were drawing nearer. As Roy slicked his wet hair back with one hand, he finally spotted the group of five teens approaching the water’s edge. They’d already realized that they had company.

“Hullo!” one of the boys said cheerfully, waving and squinting at him. “Who’s that, then?” The other boy nudged him and mumbled something under his breath. Roy groaned internally, but lifted a hand in greeting. The second boy was Harry, one of the Terrible Trio.

“Hello!” he called back. “Roy Mustang. Mr. Crofter and I have already met, but I don’t think I recognize the rest of you?” Harry had the grace to blush at the mention of their previous meetings, but he ducked his head in acknowledgement. The first boy, tall and blue-eyed with sandy blonde hair, glanced between them with interest, but shrugged and carried on with his greeting.

“I’m Peter Kingsley, and this is my little brother Edmund,” he said, clapping his hand on the shoulder of a shorter, darker boy beside him, who nodded somewhat sulkily. “Dr. James is a close friend of our father’s; he mentioned you a while back. It’s good to meet you at last,” Peter continued with a bright smile.

“Likewise,” Roy managed, smiling back in spite of himself. Peter seemed nice enough, at least. He recalled Riza saying that Harry Crofter wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t hanging around Tom and Rick. Maybe this Peter person was a good influence, then. Roy turned his attention to the two girls standing slightly behind Harry. They seemed to be carrying on a whispering, giggling sort of conversation. Peter noticed where Roy was looking, grinned again, and took it upon himself to complete the introductions.

“The twiggy blonde is our cousin, Polly Plummer. And that’s her friend Jill, who’s visiting for the summer.” Hearing their names, the two girls looked around. Polly, who seemed to be the bolder of the two, stepped forward.

“Pleasure,” she said, tossing her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “We’d love to join you, but Jill and I were wondering whether you’re fit for female company,” she continued innocently. Jill choked and flushed before hissing and swatting at her friend’s arm.

“Way to be subtle, Polls,” Edmund murmured, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Roy very carefully did _not_ turn his head to the quivering clump of reeds he could see out of the corner of his eye. He had no doubts that Riza’s hysterical (though silent) laughter would give her away if this went on too long. He cleared his throat.

“Take a closer look at the pile of clothes there, and you tell me,” he said saucily. But even as he said so, he realized that Riza had left her sandals beside his shoes. If any of the others noticed them sitting beside his shirt and trousers, the jig would be up. But Polly was giggling.

“I hope that means you’ve got something on in there, because I’ve been thinking about this lake all day, and I’m not about to let propriety stop me from cooling off in this god awful heat. So, fair warning, and all that.”

She had already kicked off her shoes and was peeling her blouse off to reveal a modest one piece bathing suit. Her cousins shrugged and followed suit, and even Harry was cheerfully shedding his clothes without compunction. Only Jill hung back, until Polly pounced on her, threatening to assist her. With much giggling and squealing, all five were soon in the water paddling and splashing about.

Roy put Jill’s lingering fears to rest by clambering up on the dock to dive gracefully back in. At the sight of his black boxer shorts, Polly nudged Jill knowingly. Jill sputtered and tried to act as though she hadn’t been expecting to get an eyeful, while the other three boys snickered.

After a short but rather exuberant splashing fight, Roy dragged himself back onto the dock and leaned back on his elbows in the sun, hoping Riza had taken advantage of the distractions to get out of the water and find a drier place to hide. A moment later, Peter hauled himself up to sit beside Roy.

“So how’d you find this place, anyhow? I thought it was something of a town secret,” he asked Roy. He didn’t seem at all put out, just curious, and so Roy pursed his lips and told him as much of the truth as he could without compromising Riza.

“I didn’t even know it was here until today. When I left the house, I was just thinking about finding a nice cool clearing somewhere in the shade. But then I saw the water, and I couldn’t resist having a swim,” he explained.

“Lucky find, then,” Peter smiled. Roy smiled back, liking Peter more each moment. “We don’t really come out here that much, either. Technically, the lake’s on Master Hawkeye’s property, so I suppose you’ve more right to it than any of us actually do,” Peter said, nodding in the direction of his friends and relatives.

They’d started a game that looked like some sort of modified version of blind man’s bluff. Chancing a glance down the shore while Peter’s attention was elsewhere, Roy noticed that the clump of reeds Riza had been hiding in _was_ now empty. He wondered whether she’d hidden in the woods or simply headed for home. Realizing that Peter was still talking, he turned his attention back to the older boy.

“Ever since Mrs. Hawkeye died, no one ever comes out here,” he was saying. “It seemed a waste, so sometimes we sneak out here on the really hot days. Some of the guys are kinda worried about getting caught, but…well, Master Hawkeye’s habits are pretty notorious, and so we decided to chance it…” he trailed off, watching Roy from the corner of his eye. Ah, was that what he was on about?

“I doubt he’d mind if he did find you all out here,” Roy reassured him. “But I won’t mention it to him, if you’d rather I didn’t.” Peter’s wary expression cleared.

“Thanks, mate. Say, the doc told my dad and me about what you did for Miss Hawkeye, a few months back. I just wanted to say I think that’s real decent of you, helping her out like that.” Roy flushed at the praise.

“It wasn’t anything special,” he demurred, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyone would have done the same in my place.” But Peter was shaking his head.

“No, they wouldn’t have. I mean, I met a few of the other boarding pupils, here and there. Those that pulled their heads out of their books long enough to even notice the kid needed a hand probably would’ve been the same ones who’d put her in that condition in the first place,” he said, his kind features hardening slightly. Roy’s fists clenched reflexively.

“Miss Hawkeye mentioned that some of them picked on her,” he said, grinding his teeth. He saw the fleeting expression of surprise on the older boy’s face. “I didn’t want to upset her by asking too many questions, but I did wonder whether any of them had actually hurt her.”

Peter stared at him for a long minute, before glancing back to the lake. The other teens were still playing their game, although Edmund seemed to be ‘it’ now instead of Harry. Peter kept his eyes focused on his little brother as he spoke.

“Dr. James is the only doctor around, for miles and miles,” he said softly. “And he’s had to fix her up more than once. He never breathed a word to anyone about it, ya know. Confidential and all that. But we ain’t blind. Little girl turns up at his door with a broken wrist or a black eye, we notice. And it’s definitely not her daddy beatin’ on her. If it were, then the doc would have driven right over there and made a hell of a fuss over it, alchemist or no. That’s the kind of man he is,” he said, his tone gruffly affectionate.

“I knew I liked him,” Roy murmured. Peter shot him a quick smile.

“Anyway, each time she wound up hurt, one of them students would turn up at the train station the next morning with all his things, lookin’ like he’d had the fear of God put into him. Never to be seen nor heard from again. But it still happened more often than it should’ve, if you ask me,” he finished.

“No, it never should’ve happened at all,” Roy agreed, balling his fists and thinking of a pair of wide, fearful brown eyes. He looked over at Peter again. “But why are you telling me all this?”

Peter shrugged, pursing his lips a little.

“The Hawkeyes are a bit…different. From the rest of us, I mean. Not that they act ‘hoighty toity’ about it, but they ain’t quite the same as the other folks around here, and we all know it. Even so, that don’t mean that we don’t care about ‘em. I guess I just don’t want you thinking we’d let a little kid get picked on without having something to say about it.”

Roy nodded slowly.

“I should probably be offended by what you’re implying,” he said after a moment. “But as it happens, I’m glad someone else is looking out for her. She’s a sweet kid, and she deserves better than what those little bastards put her through,” he said. “I consider her a friend. I’d never do anything to hurt her.” The two boys stared at each other for a moment, and then Peter nodded and stuck out his hand.

“I really am glad to have met you,” Peter said, as they shook hands.

“Me, too,” Roy said. “I, uh, didn’t have the best first impression of the other kids around here.” Peter raised his eyebrows, and Roy grinned. “You may want to ask your friend Harry about that one.” Peter grinned back at him.

“Ah, you had a run in with Tom Granger and Rick Shepherd, didn’t you? They can, uh, come on a little strong. Sorry about that. But you know, you’re welcome to hang out with us anytime,” he said, gesturing to the group in the lake. “And Miss Hawkeye, too, if she wanted,” he added a little shyly.

“Thanks. I’ll make sure she knows that. I should probably be getting back soon, though,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve already been here longer than I meant to be.”

He waved goodbye to the others, pulling on his trousers to choruses of: “see you around!” and “don’t be a stranger!” Scooping Riza’s shoes into the bag with the forgotten sandwiches, he made his escape and plunged into the trees, wondering where Riza had gone and whether she’d heard any of what Peter had been saying.

Just as he was starting to think he’d gotten himself lost, Riza dropped gracefully out of the tree right in front of him, and he jumped about a foot in the air.

“Riza! Cripes, you gave me a heart attack!” he cried.

“Sorry,” she smiled. “I was starting to wonder whether you were coming.”

“Well since our swim lesson failed miserably, I thought we could at least salvage the picnic,” he said, holding up the bag with one hand and fishing out her shoes with the other. She took them gratefully and slipped them on.

“I wouldn’t call it a complete failure,” she admonished. “I feel quite certain that I could survive any number of basement floods, now.” Roy pretended to throw the thermos at her, and she ducked behind the tree, laughing.

“All right, you,” he said fondly. “I’m starving; is there a place nearby we can relax for a bit? Since the lake was taken over by hostile forces?”

“Yes, this way,” she said, already leading the way back into the woods. “Though I wouldn’t call the Kingsley boys ‘hostile,’ really…”

“Peter seemed a decent sort,” Roy prompted, curious about Riza’s take on her neighbors.

“He really is. Something of a golden boy: hard worker, good at sports, charming but humble, strong moral principles…beloved by all, in general,” she said, dropping onto a large rock in a pleasantly shady clearing as she finished.

“Huh. No wonder his brother looked sour. Hard to live in the shadow of a guy like that,” Roy mused, settling down beside her.

“You mean Edmund?” Riza asked, handing Roy his sandwich. “He’s not a bad sort, either. Just quieter and more reserved. He’s very clever, but keeps a lot to himself, I think. I’m not always sure what to make of him, but I do know he’s got a good heart.”

“Hopefully they’ll be a good influence on our good friend Harry,” Roy said, as he unwrapped his sandwich. Riza frowned a little.

“He doesn’t normally hang around the Kingsleys, actually. But now that you mention it, I think that has more to do with the presence of Miss Jill and Miss Polly,” she replied.

“Faint heart never won fair maiden?” Roy said, raising an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” Riza acknowledged with a faint smirk. “It’s probably a good thing you left when you did. Otherwise you’d have ended up in another ridiculous brawl over a girl.”

“Oh god, you’re right,” Roy laughed. “They’d have stormed the estate with pitchforks and torches for sure, this time. But hey, at least we know to avoid the lake on hot days now,” he added.

“We don’t have to avoid it so much as dress _appropriately_ the next time,” she countered. “Thanks for covering for me, by the way. If anyone had seen me looking like that, I may have had to endure another of Mrs. Dyer’s lectures.”

“Another—? What on earth did you do to earn the first one?” Roy asked, shocked. Riza flushed.

“She meant well. She took it upon herself to, um…well. When I turned twelve…she decided that someone should _explain_ certain things to me…” Roy choked on a snort of laughter, and Riza covered her pink face with her hands. “It just kept going on and on,” she mumbled. “I couldn’t look her in the eye for months.”

“It can’t possibly have been as bad as The Talk my aunt gave me,” Roy protested. “She had diagrams and anatomy charts and everything.”

“Mrs. Dyer invited me over to make bread one afternoon. She didn’t need _diagrams_ , because she rolled the dough into _shapes_ to illustrate her points,” Riza said, looking up at last.

“Dear lord. Ok, yeah, you win,” Roy conceded. “Bread dough,” he snorted again, rising to his feet and brushing the crumbs from his trousers.

“I don’t think it’s possible to actually kill someone by extreme embarrassment, but Mrs. Dyer sure gave it her best shot,” Riza said, accepting his hand and pulling herself to her feet.

“Yeah, we definitely want to avoid a lecture on propriety from the town busybody,” Roy chortled as they walked slowly back to the main path. “Remind me to steer clear of her if we see her in town, won’t you?”

“Consider it done,” Riza replied with a smile.

* * *

 

**September 21**

_This time I’m sending you girls a care package, and I thought I’d better include an explanation before you started to worry I’d made any of this stuff myself!_

_Now that the harvest has begun, the neighbors have been bringing Hawkeye-sensei all sorts of fruits and vegetables, especially over this past week. Tomatoes, nectarines, plums, corn…one person even brought pears, which are really hard to grow around here. Some of them are meant as payment for past services rendered, but mostly people are just being neighborly. And everyone seems to know exactly what Miss Riza's garden does and doesn't have, because so far no one has shown up with any of the vegetables or herbs that she grows herself. Apparently these little gifts are something they do every autumn, and Miss Riza seems to have a lot of experience with preserving anything that can’t be used right away. She's spent the last few days canning vegetables and making jams and jellies: the whole house smells fantastic. She says that once she's finished, there will be preserves enough to last us the whole winter._

_Anyway, Miss Riza asked me to send this little package to you girls, with her compliments. The dark purple ones are plum jam, and the bright orange are nectarine and nectarine-peach jam. There are also two jars of pickles, one of spicy tomato and pepper sauce, and one of sweet corn relish. (Which she made me try once she saw the look of disgust on my face…trust me, it tastes much better than you'd think!)_

 

It had been quite a while since the last time Roy had walked into town alone. He found that the trip felt twice as long without Miss Riza to keep him company. But she’d been up to her elbows in simmering nectarine-and-sugar slurry all day, with glass jars in their hot water baths spread out all around her, and baskets of plums, peaches and nectarines on the counter waiting to be pitted and peeled.

Roy had offered to help, initially, but his inexperience with canning had made him more of a hindrance than help to Riza. She’d finally pushed him gently out of her kitchen (nursing three burnt fingers and slightly bruised pride), with an armful of jars from her previous day’s batch and instructions to tell his aunt hello for her.

After pouting for a few minutes, Roy had slowly trudged upstairs to collect his usual bundle of letters for his aunt and ‘sisters.’ He’d also taken the time to write another brief note to explain the origin of the preserves, and searched out a small box he could use to send them. Feeling oddly bereft as he plodded down the front steps with his package, Roy failed to observe the dark, ominous clouds looming on the horizon.

Once he’d reached the post office, Roy flirted innocently with the amiable postmistress as he paid for postage. As usual, she teased him back good-naturedly and asked after his family back home. She even wrapped up his little care package in plain brown paper for him, free of charge. Mission completed, Roy wandered leisurely through the general store for a while before stopping at the café to grab a bite to eat with the last of his monthly allowance. Toying with his cup of coffee (which the waitress kept refilling, blushing and smiling each time) he noted idly that there seemed to be fewer people out and about today than usual.

But it wasn’t until he left the café and turned his steps towards the Hawkeye estate that the sky darkened above him. And Roy, looking up, finally realized that there was a storm approaching. A nasty one, if the clouds were anything to judge by. He grumbled and buried his hands in his coat pockets, noticing the tell-tale chill in the air for the first time.

“Typical,” he muttered, walking faster.

He was only halfway home when the rain started. With a soft curse, Roy upgraded his pace from brisk walk to brisk trot. It was awkward to hold his coat over his head at such a speed, and as the rain grew steadily heavier with each step, it was soon pointless to even try. With a deep sigh, he thrust his arms back into the sleeves and impatiently pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. 

His feet slipped and slid in the rapidly growing puddles stretching across the muddy road, and he was just beginning to feel sorry for himself when he spotted the large oak tree that he knew to be roughly a mile from his teacher's home. Hoping for at least _some_ shelter, he darted towards it, noticing as he did so that another, familiar figure already stood beneath it.

“Riza?” he asked, surprised. And so it was. She turned to face him, expression doleful.

“Hi. You got caught in this too, huh?” she sighed in reply.

“Yep. I didn’t even see the clouds when I left, so I wasn’t exactly rushing to get back home. And storms move a lot quicker up here than they do in Central City,” he said sheepishly.

“At least it’s a change from all the dry heat from last month,” she offered with a wan smile.

“Yeah, there’s that,” he admitted. “But what are you doing out here, anyway? I thought you were making jam all day again.”

“I was. I finished up a little bit after you left, and I took a few jars over to Mrs. Turner as a thank you for the nectarines. But she got to talking, and I stayed longer than I intended to,” she said, wrapping her arms more securely around her slender frame. The tree wasn't offering nearly enough protection from the elements, and her thin dress was already wet through. “She wanted me to stay and wait out the rain, but ...well. I thought I could make it home before it started,” she admitted.

“Didn’t want to be trapped there?” he said with a knowing grin. She grimaced.

“She’s very kind. But two and a half hour’s ‘chat’ about the health and welfare of her sheep, and the goings on of her nephew the big-city detective, and the state of her basil and her tomatoes this season was…it was…”she paused, searching for a more gracious phrase than ‘it was enough to drive me insane.’

“Sufficient?” Roy supplied, grinning still. She smiled back.

“I didn’t want to overstay my welcome,” she said charitably.

They stood together in silence for a moment, hoping for a lull in the heavy rain. It was peaceful, in a way, but it was too cold to fully appreciate the beauty of the scene while they were stuck shivering out in it.

“Guess we’d better run for it, huh?” Roy asked, turning his collar up.

“I’m still trying to get up the courage,” she sighed in reply.

“It’s only another mile or so. That’s not so far,” he said encouragingly, and offered her his hand. As her fingers closed tentatively around his, the wind roared around them. A terrific flash of lightening was followed up a second later by a deafening peal of thunder, and the teens clung together in startled fright before looking at each other and beginning to laugh.

“Guess that’s our cue!” Roy said, and they set out running, hands still clasped tight.

The heavy rain became a violent downpour as they ran. It may as well have been a flood, as far as Roy was concerned. It was almost as though they were swimming rather than splashing their way along. Good thing he’d showed Riza how to swim, after all, he thought suddenly. He began to laugh, though he was barely able to hear his own voice over the noise of the water falling all around them.

“This is insane!” he yelled. He had stopped trying to push his wet hair out of his eyes long ago, and he could hardly see a thing through the sheets of water, but he knew that Riza was smiling back at him.

“Come on!” she cried, and squeezed his hand gently. They ran together through the sodden fields, slipping and stumbling and clinging to each other like life-rafts. Roy saved Riza from a particularly nasty fall when she lost a shoe in the sucking mud, though he nearly fell down himself when hauling her upright again. 

At last, freezing, muddy, drenched to the skin, and breathless with laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all, the two teens stood dripping on the porch, fruitlessly trying to wring water from their clothes.

Feeling relatively secure under the covered porch, they stood and watched the storm rage around them for several more minutes. Instinctively, the shivering Riza edged closer to Roy, who slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer against his side.

“Geez, it’s freezing out here. Front door or back?” he asked, considering.

“I can’t decide which would be better,” she managed to say through chattering teeth.

“I’ll help you clean up the mess we make either way,” he said cheerfully.

“It’s not that,” she said. “I was just wondering which way would be less slippery—tile or wood? With my luck today, I’ll fall and dislocate my other shoulder.”

“The tile is probably slipperier--is that even a word? But it’d be easier to clean...Either way, we’d better chose quickly. I’ve never been so cold in my life,” he said, squeezing her gently as another full body shiver wracked his frame. Though her body heat, tucked against his side was helping a bit. “Are you sure it’s only September?”

“Oh? City boy can’t handle a little water?” she teased gently, poking his side.

“This—” he gestured at the deluge around them with one hand. “ _This_ is not a little water; this is a maelstrom. I can hardly be blamed!” She giggled and then gasped.

“Oh, gosh, what time is it? I haven't even started dinner yet!” Roy shook his head at her.

“Nope, bath first. Then we can worry about food.” He turned and led the way to the front door.

“But Papa—” she started to protest, letting Roy usher her into the house.

“Oh, he doesn’t eat at regular hours anyway, and you know it. Besides, I’m sure your father would rather have his dinner an hour late than see you catch a horrible cold to make sure it was precisely on time,” he replied, giving her a gentle nudge towards the stairs as he closed the door behind them.

“He’s right, child.” The gravelly voice startled them both, and they whirled around to face Berthold. He stood in the doorway of the living room. If he’d been near the windows there, he’d undoubtedly seen them running across the field and then talking on the porch. 

“Papa!” Riza cried out.

“Sensei!” Roy exclaimed at the same moment.

“Go on, both of you, before you catch your deaths in this cold,” he said, looking sternly from one to the other.

“Yes, papa,” and “Yes, sir,” echoed in the small foyer. Roy felt his teacher’s eyes on them as he ascended the stairs behind Riza. He didn't seem angry at Roy's irreverent comments...far from it, he seemed faintly amused. So why was he watching him still with such a calculating look? 

 Much later that night, when Roy was snuggled into his feather bed with an extra blanket and a belly full of hearty beef stew, he realized something. He’d actually had his arm around Miss Riza, pressing her firmly into his side without any regard to her personal space. And neither she nor her father had seemed to mind in the least.

* * *

 

**September 28**

It was far too quiet for a Saturday night, in Madame Christmas’s opinion.

She’d even decided to let some of her girls go home early, something which she rarely needed to do. In fact, she had just placed a hand on Claire’s shoulder when Brigadier General Grumman trailed into the bar, looking sad, lost and utterly unlike himself.

“Claire, darling,” she said quietly, her hand still resting on the younger woman’s shoulder blade. “Would you mind showing my old friend to my private office? Discreetly, please.”

“Not at all,” Claire replied, brow furrowed in concern as her hazel eyes flicked up and down the older gentleman.

Chris remained behind the bar, watching carefully. Claire intercepted Grumman, greeted him cheerfully but quietly, tucked a hand into the crook of his elbow and steered him unobtrusively towards the back of their establishment. The private rooms for entertaining small, intimate groups were located there, right alongside a semi-secret back entrance to Chris’s own private office.

If anyone were watching the pair, it would appear that the Brigadier General was the one leading the way, and that he’d had a prearranged meeting with the young hostess hanging on his arm. Not that anyone was actually paying close attention, but it never hurt to take precautions just in case. And it kept her girls sharp, Chris knew.

It was important to be aware of one’s body language at all times, Chris told her girls constantly. The slightest flinch or flicker of an eye could give the game away if the mark were observant enough, or had observant enough security in place. Claire slipped into the role of eyelash-batting ingénue quite effortlessly, striking a fragile balance between innocent vulnerability and an “I-might-be-young-and-pretty-but-I'm-not-stupid” vibe. She really _was_ starting to get better at subterfuge, Chris noted with an approving smirk. Grumman, on the other hand, was not behaving at all like his usual suave self. Anyone who knew him even moderately well would be able to see that something was amiss.

“What on earth has gotten into you, old man?” Chris murmured to herself. She raised an eyebrow at Sophie, who was across the room and laughing at something one of her patrons had just said. Recognizing the signal, Sophie rose gracefully, gathered the empty glasses from the table, and then sashayed over to the bar.

“Keep an eye on the front of the house for me, please,” Madame said in a low voice as Sophie dumped the dirty glasses into a shallow plastic bin for the kitchen staff to deal with. “I’m stepping out for a bit; I’ve come across a matter that needs my attention,” she explained over the soft clattering of glassware. “Go ahead and send Ada home if no one else comes in in the next half hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie replied, a clean glass in each hand as she turned back around. “Oh, and that twitchy-looking man in the lab coat is back in again,” she added, gesturing in the correct direction with a subtle sway of her hips as she prepared fresh drinks. “Want one of us to chat him up?”

Madame spared a glance for the man in question, who did indeed seem twitchy.

“Hm. Involved with medical research, from the looks of him. It wouldn’t hurt to start building a rapport. He may become a good resource in time. But don’t lay it on too thick; tread very lightly with this one. I’ll be in my office if anything comes up.” Sophie nodded briskly, loaded the drinks on a tray and bustled off again.

Madame slowly mounted the steps leading to the ‘public’ entrance to her office, thoughts whirling in her head. When she opened the door, Claire was just pulling a bottle of scotch from the cabinet under the window, where Madame Christmas kept her own private stock for situations such as these. Catching her boss’s eye, Claire placed the bottle on the desk alongside the two glasses she’d already gotten out, smiled at Grumman, and excused herself. As she passed Chris, she flicked questioning eyes to the door and back. Chris nodded, and Claire closed the door behind herself with a soft ‘click.’

Chris crossed to her desk and settled into her chair, pouring out two measures of the pale amber spirit and passing one to her friend. He took it with a murmur of thanks, but didn’t look up. Chris hadn’t seen him looking so glum in ages. She pursed her lips and abruptly decided to skip the idle pleasantries and cut to the heart of the matter.

“You wanna tell me who died?” she said, sipping at her own drink.

“General Clifford, as a matter of fact,” he replied flippantly. “But he was getting on in years, and had a rather nasty heart condition, so it wasn’t exactly a shock.” In spite of the unconcerned tone, Grumman’s face was still ashen.

“All right,” Chris said carefully, leaning back in her chair. “What brings you in, then?”

“I’ve been promoted,” he replied. Chris’s eyebrows shot up.

“Isn’t that normally a cause for celebration?” she asked. “Major General, now, is it?” He nodded, a bit stiffly. “Congratulations.”

“The promotion also comes with a transfer, you see,” he explained, toying with his glass. “General Clifford’s death left a space to fill in Eastern City. I’ll be leaving in a few weeks.” Chris sat up straighter.

“Is that so?” She nibbled her lip, thinking over the possible pros and cons. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about the move?”

“Not exactly,” he sighed. “I don’t particularly want to leave Central City, but that’s the downside of being employed by the government. One is expected to follow orders, oddly enough.” Chris quirked her lips at the sarcastic remark.

“Yes, who’d have thought the military would require obedience from its officers?” she replied.

“I’m more concerned about having to take up the reins in a strange city, starting almost from scratch, with unfamiliar personnel under my command. I’d _hoped_ for a position in Central, among men and women I know and have worked with for years. Not one in the middle of East Nowheresville.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Chris smiled. “Eastern City is much less of a backwater than it’s made out to be.”

“Still. It’s an unexpected setback in my career; one which I didn’t foresee. All of my contacts are _here_. I’ll have to start all over again.”

“Come, now,” Chris admonished gently. “I’m sure you’ll be back up and running in no time. You can always write to your old friends if you need assistance, you know. And it certainly won’t hurt to have contacts in both Central and Eastern. Wider network. But that’s not all, is it?” Grumman looked up at that. He stared at her steadily for a moment before looking back down at his now-empty glass. Chris waited patiently.

“I still haven’t decided what I want to do about the girl,” he said at last. Ah-ha, thought Chris.

“You haven’t decided? Or you had but recent events have caused you to change your mind?” she asked. He huffed.

“My decision changes from moment to moment, Chris. To judge by the boy’s letters, it really does sound as though she is doing well. I’d just about decided to leave well enough alone…but now there’s this promotion; another factor to take into account.”

“Ah. You’re thinking of the increase in salary,” Chris guessed. “It would make it easier to afford a larger place in Eastern City, one with an extra bedroom. And to meet all the little costs inherent in raising a teenage girl: school fees and clothing and an allowance and the like.”

“It’s not just about the money, though,” he admitted quietly. “I’m also worried about what will happen when your nephew’s alchemic education comes to an end. That bloody _fool_ Hawkeye will just bring in some new arrogant little punk bastard, who will torment the girl simply because he can, and she’ll endure it all in silence because she knows all too well how much her father needs the damn _money_ ,” he spat, bristling with anger. “And her father will ignore it until she has marks on her skin, in which case he’ll throw the little monster out and bring in another one and it will start all over again!” His face was red, now, and his chest was heaving.

“Will you write to him, then?” Chris asked softly. “Make the offer to take her off his hands?” Grumman rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm down again.

“I don’t know _what_ to do, Chris,” he admitted quietly.

“The choices are much more difficult when you have a personal stake,” she replied. It was no wonder he looked so glum, she thought, filling up his glass for a second time.

“Every time I think I’ve made up my mind, I change it again five minutes later. Her father is a proud man. If I offered to help, he’d refuse me. And that’s not a guess; he’s refused my help once before.” She nodded, remembering their last conversation, and Grumman cuffed an impatient hand through his thinning hair.

“You mentioned taking steps to change her legal guardianship, when we spoke last,” she prompted.

“But if I take her from him by force, she’ll hate me before she even gives me a chance, because he’s her father and she loves him and separating them would make me a monster in her eyes. I want her to be safe and happy, Chris, but I couldn’t bear her hating me. And then again, if I do nothing and let things continue as they have, she’ll continue to suffer from Hawkeye’s stubbornness and neglect, and I don’t want that either. Now, with this promotion, I’ll be even farther away from them, so if something happened and there was some chance I _could_ _have_ stepped in to help, I won’t be able to because I’ll be too far away to be of any use. I just—I don’t know what to do,” he finished helplessly.

“You know,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care. “Your granddaughter isn’t so alone or friendless as she imagines herself to be. There are plenty of decent people in that town who can help her should the need arise. People who _have_ helped her in the past.” Grumman’s eyes narrowed as he studied her.

“You think I should leave it alone, don’t you?” Chris raised a shoulder.

“For the time being, perhaps. While she’s clearly been bullied in the past, she’s safe and happy at the moment. As you said yourself, she’s doing well. When my brat leaves, and she loses her closest ally, you can reconsider the options.”

“Closest ally…yes, that fits.” Grumman said softly. “He’s good for her, your nephew. I can see that. He’s been… drawing her out of her shell. Building her confidence. Teaching her how to trust.”

“And she’s good for him as well,” Chris agreed. “He’s learning that he must be a trustworthy man in order to earn trust. That he must be gentle with those who are vulnerable. And, perhaps most importantly: that you can’t judge a woman by her face. Your granddaughter certainly isn’t the wilting lily she seems to be at first glance—there’s quite the tiger underneath that soft, innocent façade.” Grumman chuckled, relaxing just a bit in his chair.

“She does seem to take after her mother,” he said. “Reconsider my other options, you say? Well, it really is a pity that arranged marriages were never the fashion in Amestris. I’m certain you and I could have come to an agreement in regards to this particular pair,” he added, with a shadow of his usual smirk.

“My dear friend, there is plenty of time for that down the road,” Chris replied with a wink and a shark-like grin. “But I was actually thinking about vetting potential pupils on your son-in-law’s behalf, and sending them his way, before he chooses another rotten apple.” Grumman stared at her.

“Well for pity’s sake. I’d never even thought of that,” he said, looking stricken. Chris’s eyes softened.

“As I said, it’s more difficult when you’re emotionally involved. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?”

“Yes…yes, I’ll be sure and look into it,” he mused.

“Now, while we’re here,” Chris added, “We should discuss your transfer and the effect it will have on our current arrangements. Do we need to work out new codes for when we need to contact each other, or will the usual ones do? Meeting face to face won’t be impossible, of course, but it will pose some logistical challenges,” she said.

“I’ve been more concerned about our…written communication,” Grumman confessed rather sheepishly. Chris rested her chin in her hand and smiled at him.

“Of course you have. I can arrange for any letters to be forwarded to you. As long as they continue to come to me, old man, I promise I’ll send them on. I hope you like sweets, by the way. My Juliet’s taken to confectionary of late.” And boxes of homemade candy made an excellent vehicle for bundles of private letters that one wished to remain as private as possible. “If we aren’t careful, that girl will have us all twenty pounds heavier before a month is out,” she sighed.

“My dear friend, I’m certain that a bit of extra padding on your bones couldn’t possibly detract from your usual dazzling radiance,” Grumman said gallantly. Chris snorted, pleased to see his usual personality reasserting itself.

“Say that to me again in about 10 years, you incurable flirt,” she retorted. “Menopause is not kind to the women in my family. I’ll be roughly the size and weight of a grizzly bear, no matter what steps I take to prevent it. Just you wait and see.”

“My very dear woman, surely it will be more than ten years. You can’t possibly be old enough to reach menopause by then.”

“Flatterer,” she replied dryly. “Though I’ve always had a talent for deception where it’s necessary, there will come a time when I won’t be able to lie convincingly about my age. Until then…well. I’ve been thirty for more years than I’d care to admit, and no one has ever questioned me on it,” she smiled.

“You’re quite skilled with smoke and mirrors, my dear,” Grumman smiled in reply. “And surrounding yourself with distracting, shiny objects that draw attention when you need it to be drawn certainly doesn’t hurt either. Did I ever tell you that you had me fooled? I was more than a little shocked when I learned your true date of birth.”

“For heaven’s sake, keep that information to yourself, man. Or I’ll have to hire an assassin to protect my secrets,” Chris laughed. “Back to the matter at hand, if you please! About our codes…supposing we stick to the basics? At least until we have a good reason to change.”

“Agony column?” Grumman asked, referring to their practice of placing coded ads in the paper requesting or imparting information. “With the usual pseudonyms, I presume?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ve become rather attached to my alter ego.” They spent several more minutes hammering out the details of their clandestine communications, though most of it was hardly necessary, in Chris’s opinion.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Grumman argued lightly. “You never know who might be watching. And besides—it’s rather fun sometimes, isn’t it? Bit like being a kid playing spy.” Chris rolled her eyes, but didn’t disagree.

“Now that that’s settled,” she said, shifting to unlock the drawer where she normally kept Roy’s letters. “I have a little something extra for you this time.”

Grumman blinked as she set the jar down with a soft plunk on the desk between them.

“Jam?” he said, incredulously.

“Indeed. My nephew sent it to me. Seems his teacher’s neighbors often express their affection with gifts of food. Keeps his daughter quite busy this time of year, I understand. He sent us a dozen jars of various preserves just last week. I thought you might like some nectarine jam.”

“Dammit,” Grumman swore softly, clutching at the jar with both hands as though it were something precious. “You know, you’re not helping me stick to my resolve, here,” he managed after a moment. “It’s getting awfully tempting to secure myself a quiet, young, hardworking housekeeper to take with me to the East. And one with highly praised culinary skills, too.”

“Well, you haven’t tried the jam yet. It could be terrible. And then you’d be stuck, wouldn’t you?” Chris said, patting his arm.

“All right, all right. I suppose I’d best leave her where she is for now. If her circumstances change, though…” he trailed off thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth over the side of the glass jar.

“You’ll know it just as soon as I do, old man,” Chris promised solemnly, rising from her chair. “Now, it’s getting late, and I have a bar to run.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me for keeping you from your business. Thank you, my dear. I am indebted to you,” he said, rising from his chair as well. They both knew he wasn’t just referring to the jam.

“I’ll put it on your tab,” Chris said softly.

Unsurprisingly, when he opened the door, Grumman found young Claire waiting outside, somehow managing to look both seductive and completely innocent.

“Ma’am,” she said, nodding to Chris. “Brigadier General, sir, if you’ll come back this way with me, I’ll see you back out to the main bar. Would you like me to get you another drink before you go?”

“No, thank you, dear. I think I’ve got everything I came for. Good night, Madame Christmas,” he said.

“Good night, old man. And congratulations again on your promotion.”

“Promotion?” echoed Claire, already leading him back the way they’d come up. “You naughty thing, you should have told me! Here I am calling you by the wrong rank like some ignorant barfly. Is it Major General, then?”

Chris listed to the bright chatter fade as the pair descended the steps. She paused while locking her drawer, suddenly struck by one of Grumman’s comments.

“Arranged marriage, indeed!” she snorted. “I wonder whether either party would protest?”


	8. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy falls ill and Riza provides some much-appreciated TLC.

**October 19**

Roy woke in the middle of the night feeling as though his whole body was on fire. Kicking his blankets away fretfully, it occurred to him that a night in the middle of October really shouldn’t be so uncomfortably warm. It had been raining the day before, and it had been cool and crisp outside when he’d gone to bed only a few hours ago. In fact, he could still feel the cool air from his open window wafting over his face.

Wait…then, why—?

As he lay there trying to puzzle it out, Roy was suddenly wracked by a violent bout of shivers. With a sinking heart, he realized that the problem wasn’t the weather at all: he had a fever. 

And for the first time in months, Roy felt terribly, miserably homesick.

Being ill was never _fun_ , but being ill while far away from home felt so much worse. Roy couldn’t help but long for the comfort and familiarity of his aunt's brusque, no-nonsense style of coddling.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she’d once scolded him. “You’re sick. And if ever you deserve special treatment it’s when you have the chicken pox. Now, you lie down and rest, young man, but if you get bored, just you call and one of us will come and amuse you.  All right? Good. So what would you like best to eat? You may have anything you want.”

True to her word, Chris had allowed Roy to languish on her sofa eating strawberry ice cream and making outrageous demands on the girls for the duration of his illness. And of course, the girls had been only too happy to indulge his every whim, including building a blanket fort and reenacting scenes from their favorite radio programs and books.

Roy smiled faintly at the memory of damsel-in-distress Veronica “swooning” into heroic Elinor’s arms after having been “rescued” from the villainous Violet, who’d lain a few feet away, “vanquished” by a cardboard sword. The poignancy of the scene had been somewhat ruined when all three girls had burst into hysterical giggles, but it had definitely taken Roy’s mind off of the horrible itching for a while.

Curling miserably beneath the blankets he’d discarded only moments before, Roy remembered that he was supposed to have another lecture on code-breaking tomorrow. After the Playfair cipher he’d botched so badly, he couldn’t miss it; Hawkeye-sensei would be livid. He’d just have to try to get some sleep and hope he felt better in the morning, he decided wearily.

He dozed off thinking about exams and cold remedies. It was a restless, fitful sort of sleep, and Roy drifted in and out of a series of vague, confusing, fever dreams about drowning in chamomile tea, being trapped in a maze with quilted walls, and running from horrible and faceless creatures though rainy, windswept fields. There were also strange intervals where cool hands touched his face, a sweet voice softly called his name, and another, deeper voice murmured things like: _“Influenza, most likely, due to the sudden onset,”_ and _“The lungs sound clear...fever is much higher than I’d like though,”_ and _“Need to get this medicine into you, son,”_ and _“Shh, it’s all right. Lie back down now; there’s a good lad.”_

But Roy’s head was throbbing so hard that he couldn’t really listen properly, and the darkness of his dreams curled around the edges of his thoughts until it was too much to resist. He allowed the darkness to surround him; to pull him down deeper and deeper until he no longer cared what the voices were saying or what they wanted from him.

* * *

**October 20**

The next thing he was aware of was a damp, cooling sensation sweeping softly across his forehead.

 

“Mmnph,” he mumbled, turning his head towards it without opening his eyes. The delicious coolness stopped abruptly, and he frowned, willing it to come back.

“Hi,” said a soft, familiar voice. “How’re you feeling?”

Who was that? Roy struggled to identify the voice, still feeling as though his head was stuffed full of molasses and cotton wool. Miss Riza, his brain finally supplied. Of course it was; how could he have forgotten her even for a moment? Were there too many women in his life if he couldn’t pick each individual voice out from the others instantaneously? It had only taken a moment to remember, though, so maybe it was all fine so long as he got there in the end…But Miss Riza had asked him a question, hadn’t she?

“Horrible,” he finally managed, keeping his eyes closed. “Head hurts, throat hurts…m’ whole body hurts.” Riza made a soft, sympathetic sound, and reapplied the cool, damp cloth to his forehead. Roy sighed in quiet gratitude.

“You’ve caught a rather nasty cold,” Riza explained softly.

“Figures,” Roy sighed. “So have I been asleep all day?”

“Yes, just about. Your fever finally seems to be going down, though.” Oh right, the fever. That would explain why he still couldn’t think straight.

“What time is it, anyway?” Roy asked. He cracked an eye open at last, only to find Miss Riza sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning over him with mild concern. She had a thermometer in her hand, and on the bedside table behind her, Roy could see a tray with dishes and a small bottle on it.

“Nearly nine o’clock in the evening, now,” Riza replied. “Doctor James came by earlier and left some medicine. It’s about time for your next dose; think you can sit up to drink it?” she asked.

Roy tried, but to his chagrin, he discovered that his body was too weak to obey his commands. Riza quickly slipped her slender arms around him to help. Once he was sitting up, she piled his pillows between his back and the headboard to prop him upright.

“Mm. Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling oddly shy. Riza was either unaware of his discomfort, or she chose to ignore it. Instead she turned to fiddle with something on the tray behind her. When she turned back, she offered him a short tumbler half full of a syrupy concoction the color of red currant jelly.

“Here, drink this. It’s supposed to help with the aches and the fever,” she said. Roy accepted the glass doubtfully. Unfortunately, it didn’t taste anywhere near as pretty as it looked, and he fought his gag reflex as he choked the contents down as quickly as possible.

“Ugh,” he grimaced. “That was awful. You said the doc was here?” He slumped back against his pillows as Riza took the tumbler and handed him a taller glass, this one full of water.

“Mm-hm,” she replied. “You didn’t turn up for your lesson today, so Papa sent me to check on you. When I told him that you were feverish and incoherent, he got really worried and sent me to fetch the doctor. You don’t remember?”

“Not really,” he said, sipping at the water. Although if the doctor had been here, Roy’s hazy recollections of cool hands and soft, medically knowledgeable voices suddenly made a lot more sense. Not entirely a dream, apparently. “I must have really been out of it.”

“You were, yes,” she replied. “You were…sort of moaning and shivering like mad, when I came in. I thought you were just having a nightmare at first, but when I tried to wake you, I realized that you were burning up.”

“I was having some really weird dreams,” he admitted. “But I thought I heard your voice at one point. I guess I was kinda drifting in and out the whole time.”

“That’s what made us worry,” Riza said softly. “The fever was making you delirious; you didn’t seem to recognize either of us. Doctor James had to give you the first dose of this medicine with an eyedropper.”

Roy chewed his lip, feeling a little bit exposed. He hoped that he hadn’t said or done anything too weird. He reached down to tug the blanket a bit higher, and abruptly realized that he was no longer wearing the same nightclothes he’d had on when he’d gone to bed the night before. Presumably he’d changed at some point during the day, but he was sure he’d have recalled doing that.

“When did I change…?” he wondered aloud. Riza flushed.

“Doctor James helped you with that part,” she answered quickly. And then she smiled. “Even though you were still mostly unconscious, he said that part was easier than getting you to take the medicine.” Roy choked out a startled chuckle. Riza twisted her hands nervously in her lap. “I hope you don’t mind; I had to go through some of your things to find clean pajamas.”

He started to shake his head, but stopped when it throbbed dangerously.

“No, no, of course not. It’s fine, I’m just…still a little confused, I guess,” he said awkwardly.

How delirious had he _been_ , to not notice that someone was pouring medicine down his throat and stripping off his sweat-soaked clothing? Riza was watching him solemnly. Her expression was far too serious for Roy’s liking. Suddenly he felt like a jerk, making her worry about offending him or overstepping boundaries when she’d gone to all this trouble to take care of him.

“So, what’s the prognosis? Am I gonna make it?” he joked weakly, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. She made a face and smacked the side of his leg lightly.

“Don’t joke! I was really worried about you!” she admonished him. He smiled a little at the admission, although she was glaring daggers at him. “You should have told me that you were coming down with something!” she added, frowning.

“Didn’t know that I was,” he shrugged. “I’ve been a little sluggish the past couple days, but I haven’t been congested or sniffling or anything…I just thought I was tired from staying up too late.”

“Yes, well, that probably didn’t help,” she huffed, turning to fuss with the tray again. “But Doctor James said you’ve probably just got a mild case of influenza, and the medicine he left should help with the symptoms. You’re not nauseous at all, are you?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. Roy considered for a moment, and then slowly shook his head.

“Nope. Just tired and sort of sore and achy all over.” Riza nodded, looking relieved.

“Well, that’s something. Here, you should try to eat some of this, while you can, even if you aren’t very hungry. Doctor James said you should take the medicine he prescribed with food, if at all possible.” She carefully placed the tray on his lap. While she shifted herself to the foot of his bed so she wouldn’t be in the way, Roy turned his attention to the covered dish on the tray.

Garlic-and-onion scented steam rose from the bowl when he lifted the cover. Small chunks of onion and potato swam in the golden broth, which was liberally dotted with caraway seeds. Roy raised the spoon to his lips, aware that Riza was watching him apprehensively. As the first warm mouthful hit his tongue, he made a genuine, appreciative noise, relishing the slight flush on Riza’s cheeks.

“This is really good. Thanks,” he said, scooping up another spoonful. Even though he wasn’t very hungry, he was aware that he hadn’t eaten anything in over 24 hours, and he knew very well that his body needed fuel to fight off his illness.

“Miso soup probably would have been better, since it’s so much lighter,” she said, “but I haven’t had a chance to get to the market.” She kept her eyes firmly on the quilt at the foot of the bed, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. “So instead I made you the same soup my mom used to make whenever any of us were sick. Let me know if your stomach starts to bother you; I can get you something else—”

“No, this is perfect,” Roy interrupted around another mouthful, and Riza beamed at him.

“I’m going to change out the water for your cold compress,” she said, rising. “I’ll be back in a bit. Eat as much as you think you can, all right?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, saluting with the empty spoon. She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she left.

By the time Riza returned with a pitcher of cold water, Roy had finished his soup and wriggled back into a prone position under his coverlet. She bustled about, straightening his quilt, refilling his water glass, and placing a refreshed damp cloth on his forehead, all while Roy blinked blearily at her.

“I’ve been sleeping all day and I’m still exhausted,” he grumbled. “I hate being sick.” Riza made that soft, sympathetic noise in the back of her throat again.

“I know; it’s awful. But you really should get some more sleep. I’ll check on you again later, okay?” she said, gathering up the empty dishes on the tray. “Just call out if you need something in the night; I’ll leave my door open so I can hear you. Is there anything you wanted now, before I go?” she asked.

Roy looked up at her with a negative response on his lips, and was suddenly struck by the role reversal.

 Up until now, the lion’s share of vulnerability had been on her side. He’d been the one hovering nearby doing his best to prove that he was friendly and non-threatening and trustworthy. And now here he was, totally dependent on Riza’s kindness, trusting her to look after him while he lay there half-delirious and weaker than a kitten.

“I—no, there’s nothing. Thanks,” he said softly. She frowned slightly and narrowed her eyes.

“You were going to say something else,” she stated shrewdly. “What is it?” Roy squirmed.

“It’s just…I really appreciate this,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “The medicine and the soup and everything. You looking after me,” he finished, wondering whether the warmth he could feel on his face was from the fever or his embarrassment. Riza just smiled beatifically at him.

“That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Help each other when they’re down?”

“Yeah, I suppose they do,” he said, with a tired little chuckle. He let his eyelids drift closed again before he murmured: “In that case, I’m glad you’re my friend, Riza.”

He was never sure whether he imagined it or not, but he could have sworn he felt Riza’s hand brush his hair back from his forehead as she replied.

“Me, too.”

* * *

 

**October 25**

_“Dear Aunt Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_I know how concerned you’ve all been about my recent illness, and I appreciate that more than you know. However, I can assure you that Miss Riza and her father have been taking excellent care of me. Please don’t worry; I really and truly am doing much better now. The fever broke two days ago, and the cough is nearly gone as well._

_I do still feel a tiny bit weak, but the doctor says that’s only because I’ve been confined to my room for these past few days. He also told me that I can re-start my lessons again tomorrow, so long as I take it slow. According to him, I’m as bad as Miss Riza—we’re both restless when we’re ailing, and share a ‘passionate and foolhardy desire to return to normal levels of activity far more quickly than physically advisable.’ Of course, according to Miss Riza, Dr. James is far too cautious of her health and has a tendency to coddle, whether she’s recovering from a simple cold or an accidental ankle sprain or a not-so-accidental fractured wrist. In spite of saying all that, though, she immediately took his side in regards to MY well-being, and threatened to withhold chicken soup when I pointed out the double standard. I wasn’t willing to risk going soup-less, so I gave up the argument. (Don’t judge me until you’ve tried her soup for yourselves.)_

_Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that the fact the doc finally gave me his blessing to get back to my studies is proof of my near total recovery. The only downside is that now I’ll have to take that darn code-breaking exam Hawkeye-sensei has been preparing. With my luck, he’s used this extra time to make it even more difficult!”_

* * *

 

**October 27**

_“I was right. The code-breaking exam was an absolute nightmare. I couldn’t even use my illness as an excuse for my spectacular failure: since I was confined to my room for the duration, I spent almost every waking moment reading and reviewing my notes on the material. Hawkeye-sensei didn’t seem all that upset about my poor performance, though, which makes me think he intended me to fail to prove some sort of point. We’ll meet again this afternoon to discuss it, so hopefully I’ll find out more then._

_On another note, I am feeling as good as new now, no more coughing and no lingering headaches. I’m very sorry to have worried you all, but I promise that I’m all better now, and I really will try to write you all more often.”_

* * *

 

**October 30**

_“So it turns out that last week’s exam **was** a test—well, a different sort of test than the usual, I mean. Hawkeye-sensei gave me a near-impossible code designed to make me fail. He says he did it because he needed to see how I handled disappointment and failure, as these can be near constant companions of a man who spends his life seeking the truth—something about how there will be many stumbling blocks along the path of a true scholar, and how one must learn how to overcome them and keep moving forward if he is to become a true proficient in the art of alchemy. _

_After he explained all of that, he smiled at me, a real smile, and told me I’d shown exactly the kind of determination and drive he’d hoped to see in me. It might not sound like high praise to you girls, but from Hawkeye-sensei it is worth more than the most flowery, flattering speech you could possibly imagine—it would make more sense if you knew him. Oh, and he gave me the real exam this morning, which was absurdly easy in comparison to the first fake one, and I did really well! Hawkeye-sensei says I should start working on my own code so that one day I can encrypt my own notes and findings to prevent others from stealing my work.”_

* * *

 

**October 31**

_“It’s almost harvest time out here in the country, and there’s going to be a big festival in town to celebrate in a few weeks. There will be booths set up with food and drinks, and music, and dancing, and a big bonfire at the end of the night, and I think the little kids are planning to perform a skit or a song of some sort. Everyone in town will contribute something, whether it’s preparing the mountains of food or manning the food stalls in shifts, or building the booths and the grandstand beforehand. Hawkeye-sensei is giving me a whole week off, since he has some work of his own to do at the moment, so I’m going to head into town tomorrow morning to see if I can do anything to help out for the festival. I heard from the postmistress Mrs. White that Master Hawkeye and Miss Riza haven’t attended the festival for a few years now: ever since Mrs. Hawkeye passed. I’m hoping to convince Miss Riza to come along this year. Wish me luck!”_

 

Roy sighed and put down his pen, flexing his stiff fingers. He hadn’t noticed that he’d been slacking in the letter -writing department until he’d gotten sick, but ever since the girls had pointed it out, he’d been trying to make up for it.

Two weeks ago, Master Hawkeye had sent a brief missive to Chris to let her know about Roy’s illness and assure her that her nephew was being given the best medical care available. Almost immediately, Roy had been inundated with a series of increasingly panicked letters from his sisters, demanding to know why he hadn’t written himself and threatening to send Sophie or Veronica to play sick nurse if he didn’t write them at once to tell them exactly what was going on.

He’d staggered out of bed and to his writing desk before he’d even finished reading them, horrified lest they make good on that threat.

Although Roy wouldn’t _really_ have minded the extra fussing as much as he pretended, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to expose Miss Riza to the teasing and insinuation that the girls would’ve employed if ever given the chance to meet her in person. He hadn’t dared tell them about half of the things she’d done for him while he’d been ill, not wanting to receive another mortifying letter filled with advice on kissing and seduction and—horror of horrors, tips on asking a woman’s father for her hand in marriage without getting immolated for his trouble.

Roy blushed, remembering how he’d burned _that_ letter as soon as he could, for fear Miss Riza should stumble across it accidentally.

Although he still missed them very much, Riza had proven herself an excellent caregiver and a more-than-adequate substitute for Roy’s doting sisters. Not only had she seen to his medication and his meals (which ranged from fortifying soups, stews, and porridges to refreshing fruit, honey and ice concoctions that soothed his sore throat), but she’d also made a point of keeping him entertained. At least, whenever she wasn’t nagging him to rest and build up his strength. Roy had never mentioned the unique brand of coddling that he usually received from his sisters when confined to a sickroom, and yet Riza had seemed to know that he’d need lots of distractions to keep him from going stir-crazy.

And so she’d brought back tidbits of gossip from town after her marketing, shyly showed off her progress with her quilting project, played cards, and even read aloud to him. He’d fallen asleep more than once to her sweet, soothing voice. She always seemed to know at which point _exactly_ he’d stopped hearing the words and started drifting off, because the next time she opened the book, she always started back up at just the right place. 

Riza’s gentle attentiveness would be care enough for even the most spoiled, pampered prince, Roy thought fondly. She was almost too thoughtful for her own good. Glancing over at the subject of his musings, who had fallen asleep curled up in the armchair opposite, Roy sighed.

They’d both been waiting in the parlor for her father to come back up from the basement laboratory for several hours now. Riza had been trying to read with half of her attention on the door, and Roy had finally given up his half-hearted studying in favor of writing another letter. With a frown, he checked the time. It was far later than he’d realized; no wonder Riza had fallen asleep where she sat.

“Miss Riza,” he said softly. “Wake up, Miss Riza.”

She didn’t stir. He really hated to rouse her, but it was clear that neither of them would have the chance to question Hawkeye-sensei on their respective lessons tonight. If Hawkeye-sensei had gotten caught up in one of his experiments, he might not emerge for another day at least, and there was really no point in trying to get his attention until he was finished. Nor any way to try, really, since Berthold bolted the lab door from the inside. Roy stood up and stretched before crossing to Riza’s chair and leaning over her.

“Miss Riza, come on. Time for bed, now,” he said, gently shaking her shoulder.

Riza murmured unintelligibly in her sleep and curled herself into a slightly tighter ball, but she still didn’t wake. Roy considered his options. He couldn’t just take himself off to bed and leave her sleeping all smooshed into the armchair like that; she’d be miserable in the morning. And he didn’t want to shake her any more violently than he already had; she was clearly exhausted and needed every bit of rest she could get. If she wasn’t more careful, she might end up catching a cold herself, and that was simply unacceptable. Nothing for it, then, he thought. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d carried her somewhere, after all, and her bedroom was far closer than the surgery at the far end of town.

Carefully, Roy slid one arm around her shoulders and slipped the other under her knees, cradling her limp body against his chest as he stood. To his surprise, Riza turned her head and buried her face in his neck with a soft sigh. He stood stock-still for a moment, heart racing. Was this wildly inappropriate? If Riza woke now, in his arms like this, would she be upset with him? Embarrassed? Feel taken advantage of, somehow, for being cuddled so intimately against her will?

“I’ve got to learn to think these things through,” he decided, when he remembered how to breathe again. Which was rather an accomplishment on his part, taking into consideration the soft lips brushing the column of his throat oh-so-delicately. Not that he was enjoying the sensation, or anything. Right? Yes. Ahem.

Riza hadn’t moved again after nuzzling into his collarbone, and her slow, even breaths were warm on his neck. Roy swallowed thickly, tightened his grip on the sleeping girl, and headed for the door as quickly as he dared.

Although none of the lights were on in the other rooms of the house, Roy knew the Hawkeyes’ home almost as well as his aunt’s by this time. He had no difficultly navigating the stairs in the darkness. And in spite of his recent illness, Riza wasn’t a difficult burden to bear, slender thing that she was, so Roy was up the stairs and nudging open her bedroom door with a toe in less than two minutes.

Riza made a soft noise of protest when he lowered her onto her bed, and Roy couldn’t help but smile as she curled into a tight little ball again, already missing the warmth of their shared body heat. He carefully covered her with her fluffy comforter, which she snuggled under in the most adorable way. (Not that Roy paused for just a moment to watch her sleep, or anything. No, of course not. Who would do something like that? Not Roy, that’s for sure.)

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, with one last adjustment to her blanket, and then he slipped out of her room as quietly as he’d entered it.

 

Roy lay awake for a long time afterwards, uneasy for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on. When his eyes finally drifted shut, the pale light of dawn was already streaming through his window.


	9. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy, Riza and the other kids in town prepare for and then thoroughly enjoy a Harvest Festival. Meanwhile, something is going on with Berthold.

**November 1**

Roy shuffled downstairs just before ten the following day. Though he was still a bit tired from the hours he’d kept the night before, he’d woken with a growling stomach that had forced him out of bed in search of sustenance.

“Morning,” he mumbled semi-coherently as he entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mr. Mustang,” Riza greeted him in reply, straightening from where she’d been bent in front of the oven. She was holding a pan of something that smelled sinfully of cinnamon, butter, and sugar. “Cinnamon roll?” she offered, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Bless you,” he replied fervently. Riza flushed in pleasure at the honest appreciation in his voice.

“The coffee should be nearly ready, too,” she said, setting the pan down and tugging the oven mitts off her hands.

Having perfected their morning routine over the past several months, their movements through the kitchen complimented each other’s seamlessly. Roy fetched the coffee pot and the jug of cream, placing them on the table beside the sugar bowl and coffee mugs that Riza had already set out. Meanwhile, Riza pried warm cinnamon rolls out of the pan and arranged them on plates, protesting only mildly when Roy whisked the full plates out from under her hands as he passed by. Roy poured out the coffee while Riza filled a small bowl with bright orange clementines, freshly picked from the orchard. After Riza had carried the fruit to the table and settled into the chair across from his, Roy passed over her coffee mug with a bright smile.

“Any movement from below?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the basement laboratory. Riza frowned and shook her head, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic of the coffee mug.

“Not yet. He’s been more distracted than usual the last couple of days, though. I think he’s had some kind of breakthrough with his research.” By telling him such a thing, Riza was once again revealing the extent of her trust in Roy. Though she looked slightly worried as soon as the words left her mouth, they both knew it was due to concern for her father’s health and not out of fear of Roy’s potentially nefarious intentions.

“Hmm. And here I thought he gave me the week off as a reward,” he said lightly. “Turns out he just wanted me out of his hair for a while.” He paused to bite into his cinnamon roll, and almost moaned aloud. “Oh wow, these are amazing,” he managed to say around another mouthful. “Juliet can never know about these. She’ll have a fit if she ever finds out I like yours better.” Riza’s lips twitched, but her brow was still furrowed in absentminded concern.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she replied vaguely, half her attention elsewhere. Peeling a clementine, Roy cast about for a more engaging topic.

“So, tell me more about this Harvest Festival of yours,” he said at last, popping a section of the tangy citrus into his mouth. “It’s an annual thing, yeah?” Riza finally tore her eyes away from the door and focused on her companion.

“Hm? Oh, yes, it’s always after the last of the crops are in for the year,” she said. “We haven’t actually gone in ages, although I always make a dozen or so pies and send them into town with Mrs. James. She and the nurse from the clinic run a sweets booth,” she explained, brightening a little. “And Doctor James usually helps out too, unless he’s busy with patients. He likes passing out candy to the little ones.”

“He would,” Roy chuckled. “Sounds like everyone contributes something, from what I’ve heard so far.”

“Yes, they all put in a lot of effort to prepare. People take turns manning the booths and games and things, so that everyone has the opportunity to enjoy the festival, and no one’s ever stuck working all night,” she added.

“Seems fair.  But you said you haven’t been in a few years? Why not?” Roy asked, although he suspected he knew the answer already. Riza shrugged a little and looked uncomfortable. “It’s not like you don’t know everyone there,” he teased her gently.

“Of course I know everyone. Or mostly everyone,” she conceded, a slight frown on her face. “But Papa doesn’t really care for the festival, and I’ve never felt up to going by myself. Perhaps I should volunteer to help Mrs. James and Ms. Drake this year, rather than just baking the pies,” she mused. It was Roy’s turn to frown.

“I was kinda hoping that you and I could go to the festival together,” he said. Riza’s eyes widened slightly.

“You mean…you want to go? With me?” she asked incredulously. Roy flushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. She didn’t have to sound so surprised.

“Well, yeah. If _you_ wanted to go, that is,” he said. “Don’t you?” Riza shifted a little in her chair and looked down.

“It’s not—I guess I hadn’t really thought about it,” she admitted quietly. “I haven’t gone to the festival since my mother died.”

“Oh,” Roy breathed, unsure how else to respond. Dammit, he’d _known_ it had something to do with her mom. How in the hell did he keep putting his foot in it? “Look, if you aren’t up for it, that’s fine,” he babbled. “It just sounded like it might be fun, is all, and I thought we could go together, as friends, but if you don’t want to, then—”

“I haven’t said that I don’t want to,” Riza interrupted him softly. Roy froze, with another apology still on his lips, and Riza smiled a little. “It’s not like I’ve been avoiding it on purpose or anything,” she added.

“No?” Roy croaked.

“No,” Riza echoed. “It’s just…it’s something people go to with their families and friends. And since Papa wasn’t really interested, and I’m not very close with anyone my age in town…going by myself would’ve felt a bit too lonely. I suppose I’ve forgotten how much fun we used to have before, when Mama and I went together,” she continued. “But…”

“But?” Roy repeated, hopefully.

“But…I think I’d like to go with you this year. If you’re still offering,” she said shyly.

“Really? Yeah, let’s go, then!” he replied, beaming at her and cheering inwardly. “I can’t wait. Mrs. White has been going on and on about her famous ‘Harvest Cornbread and Sausage Dressing’ for at least a month now. I can’t not try it, after all that.”

“You’d better be careful,” Riza warned, with a mischievous grin. “She and Mrs. Pippin have a long-standing feud over who makes the better dressing. They’ll be all over you for an ‘impartial’ opinion, since they know the rest of the town is too scared to take sides.” Roy groaned.

“Oh, great. So either I never get another letter from home, or I’m banned from the best fruit stall at the market. Lovely. Maybe I can just tell them I’m allergic to cornbread,” he mused.

“Good luck,” Riza retorted, chuckling. “Mrs. Pippin uses sourdough bread in hers, so she’ll just win by default.”

“Ok, suddenly this whole festival thing is losing its appeal,” Roy laughed, refilling his coffee. “Maybe sensei is onto something by avoiding it. Or maybe he’s too afraid to choose sides, too.”

“Oh, no, not Papa. He told them flat out that he prefers Mrs. Pippin’s Sourdough Apple Sage dressing, because he doesn’t care for sausages. Why do you think we have to go all the way into town to get our mail?” Riza asked, arching a brow. Roy gaped at her for a full thirty seconds before both teens dissolved into laughter.

“You’re not serious? Right, so we’ll need a plan to avoid whatever booth _those_ two are running,” Roy finally managed. “Or does the Great Dressing Conflict happen at the potluck?”

“The potluck. The Pippins run a stall with hard cider and beer, and the Whites make these pretty toys from folded paper, little animals and dolls and things. Maybe if we just avoid those two stalls and the big tent where the potluck is, they won’t notice that they haven’t seen you,” she said.

“Or maybe I can just pitch myself on the ground and feign an illness if I happen to run into either of them,” Roy said darkly. Riza just laughed again.

“Oh, we’ll think of something, don’t worry,” she said lightly. Roy offered her a wry smile.

“Say, do you need anything from town today?” he asked after a moment. “I wanted to go and see what I can do to help out with the festival, so I can feel like I’ve contributed. Maybe I can help build booths or something. Plus, I’ve got to send this letter, since it might be the last time I’m welcome in the post office,” he said, pouting. Riza tried and failed to hide her snort of laughter.

“I can’t think of anything I need, thank you. But…do you mind if I join you?” she asked, rising and gathering their empty plates. She glanced at the door to the lab again. “If he’s not out by this time, he’ll be in there all day again,” she sighed.

Roy rose and moved to stand in front of her. The furrows in her brow were back again. They both knew that if she stayed home alone, Riza would end up watching the laboratory door all day again, waiting and fretting and telling herself that everything was fine and trying not to think about all of the things that could go wrong in alchemic experiments. Gently, Roy took the dishes from her hands and placed them in the sink.

“Come on. I’ll help you with those later. And we’ll just leave out the rest of the rolls in case sensei gets hungry enough to emerge from his cave while we’re out, okay?”

“Yes, all right,” she replied with a wan smile.

“Let’s go, then,” he said. He dashed upstairs to fetch his letters, and waited while Riza put on her coat. As she secured the door behind them, Roy stifled an unexpected yawn.

“You know,” Riza began, frowning at him as she tucked her key away into a pocket. “You’ve only just recovered from that terrible cold; you really should make sure you’re getting enough rest…” Roy waved a hand as though to brush away her concern as he led the way towards the main road.

“I’m fine, honest. I stayed up too late last night, is all,” he said, glancing at her as she fell into step beside him. Had she realized that she hadn’t made it to her room under her own power last night?

“Yes, I know,” she replied, shooting him a sly look under her lashes. Roy fidgeted. “You see, I woke up in my own bed this morning, but I distinctly remember falling asleep in the parlor,” Riza continued.

“Oh, that’s—um…” Roy stammered. “Well, you see…I didn’t want to wake you, and…I mean, I tried to, but you didn’t wake up right away, and then I felt guilty. You looked so peaceful…and it’s not like I haven’t carried you before…” he trailed off, looking at her sideways. She didn’t seem upset with him, though she was flushing a little.

“Thank you, then, for taking care of me,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes.

“Sure, any time,” Roy mumbled. They were spared further awkward conversation by the sound of a horse-drawn cart rattling down the road, coming up from behind them.

“Hello!” a familiar voice called out. “Whoa, easy now, there’s a good girl,” the newcomer continued, presumably speaking to his horse. Riza and Roy drew to the side of the road to let the cart pass, but it rattled to a shuddering halt beside them instead, and Roy found himself looking up into the cheerful blue eyes of Peter Kingsley.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kingsley,” Riza greeted him in her soft, formal way.

“Hey,” Roy added, smiling.

“Hi, there,” Peter replied, with a wide, genuine smile. “You folks headed into town?” They nodded. “Want a lift, then? I’m going that way myself,” he offered. Roy spared a glance at Riza, who had no objections, before he agreed on their behalf. Peter jumped down from his seat. “Ladies first,” he said gallantly. “Miss Hawkeye?”

“Thank you,” Riza murmured as she placed her hand in Peter’s much larger one. With his other hand steady on her hip, Peter carefully boosted her up into the wagon’s bench seat. Once she was safely seated, Peter gave Roy a rougher, more masculine boost. Moments later, the three teens were underway again, rattling along the dirt road.

“Glad to see you up and about, again, Mustang,” Peter said. “The doc mentioned that you’d been pretty ill.”

“Thanks, I’m glad to _be_ back up and about,” Roy replied. “So, uh, what’s with all the hay?” He added, gesturing at the cart behind them.

“It’s for the festival,” Peter answered. “The Women’s Auxiliary Committee asked me to help out. They’re in charge of a lot of the prep work leading up to the main event, see. They’ll use the bales for all sorts of things: decorations, extra seating, dividing walls between booths, you name it.  This is the third load I’ve hauled in today, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

“They’ll keep you pretty busy, then?” Roy asked.

“Have to do my bit,” Peter shrugged modestly. “My mum and little sisters are making a bunch of stuff for the potluck supper, and since Nurse Drake is away, Ed’s been roped into helping Dr. and Mrs. James with their booth. Speaking of, are you making those famous apple pies again, Miss Hawkeye?” he asked, peering around Roy. Riza nodded wordlessly and blushed, slightly embarrassed by the praise.

“Crowd favorites, they are,” Peter said confidentially to Roy. “People have been known to clamor. Makes Miss Sarah Granger a tad jealous…she’s used to being first in just about everything, but when it comes to baking, the poor thing doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Not with her cranberry cobbler, she doesn’t,” Riza said under her breath. Roy smirked. Raising her voice so that Peter could hear her, this time, Riza added: “Have the Grangers done their corn field maze again this year, Mr. Kingsley?”

“Sure have!” Peter answered happily. “I’m gonna be driving folks back and forth all night during the festival, in fact. Well, part of the night, anyway. Mr. Granger and Tom will each take a shift, too, so I’m not stuck with all the work.” Seeing his chance, Roy spoke up.

“Talking of work, I don’t suppose you’d know if there’s anything festival-related that I could help out with?” Roy asked. “Miss Riza’s too kind to actually ban me from her kitchen, but I’m a lousy cook, and I don’t want to be in the way.” At the barely concealed snort from his other side, Roy quickly amended: “Well, more than usual, I mean.” Peter looked at him thoughtfully.

“You know, I may have just the thing,” he said, with a warm smile. “The little kids are doing some sort of song and dance deal, up on the big stage before the bonfire starts. The main part of the stage is already up, of course, cuz of the band, but the kids still needed help building and painting the sets or backdrops or whatever you call ‘em. Last I heard my cousin Polly was looking for a few more big kids to help out. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect,” Roy said cheerfully. “And where would I find Miss Plummer this time of day?” Peter hummed and pursed his lips.

“Feed store, I think?” he said. “She ought to be working there this afternoon with my aunt. Want me to drop you off there?”

“Yes, please,” Roy and Riza said in unison. Peter glanced at them with some amusement, but didn’t comment. 

They chatted cheerfully for the remaining mile into town, and all too soon Peter was drawing up outside the feed store. Leaping gracefully out of his seat, Peter waited until Roy had jumped down as well, before reaching out for Riza with a questioning look. When she nodded, he spanned her slender waist with his large, calloused hands and lifted her down bodily, as carefully as if she were some fragile thing. Roy swallowed a wave of sudden, irrational fury brought on by the sight of Peter’s hands on Riza’s waist, reflexively clenching his fists as Peter set her gently on the ground.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, you idiot,” Roy told himself firmly. “Peter’s a decent guy. He’s not gonna hurt her.” Oddly enough, this thought didn’t help much. He tried not to notice that Riza had pinked up again, although he immediately wondered whether her blush was due to the older boy’s touch or Roy’s being a witness to it (which was, of course, counterproductive to the whole not-noticing bit).

Before Roy had worked through his sudden flare of jealousy, Peter was clapping him on the back and clambering back into his cart.

“Thanks for the lift, Mr. Kingsley!” Roy called out, remembering his manners.

“Any time! And call me Peter!” the older boy replied cheerily.

“Only if you drop the ‘Mustang,’” Roy retorted with a grin.

“Consider it done,” Peter grinned as he flicked the reins. “See you at the festival, Roy! Miss Hawkeye!” He tipped his cap to Riza as his cart rattled away.

Roy smiled in spite of himself and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, watching the older boy drive away. He really did like Peter…it was hard not to, really, as he was such an open, friendly person. _Golden boy_ , Riza had called him once. Dammit, now Roy was annoyed with him again. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t Peter’s fault that he was friendly and courteous, in a straightforward kind of way. And a little bit charming. And really rather good-looking, too, if you went for the tall, lean, well-muscled type. And besides, just because Riza had flushed a little at a compliment and a casual touch, it didn’t automatically mean that she had a crush on him. Did it?

Desperately trying to ignore the knots in his stomach, Roy finally turned back to Riza, who’d been watching the exchange between the two boys with a curiously impassive look on her face.

“After you,” he said, with an exaggerated, sweeping bow. Riza rolled her eyes but smiled a very little as she walked ahead of him into the Plummer family feed store.

“Oh, is that Miss Hawkeye? And Mr. Mustang, hello there,” the pretty blonde girl greeted them, her smile as sweet as her older cousin’s. “What can I do for you?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Plummer,” Roy began.

“Polly, please,” the blonde interrupted with a laugh.

“All right, Miss Polly, then,” Roy compromised. “I heard you were looking for help building some things for the festival, so I came to volunteer.” Polly’s eyes sparkled, and her smile lit up her whole face.

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, we could really use another set of hands…Look, my shift ends in about an hour; can I meet you to talk about arrangements? ” she asked.

“Sure, sounds good,” he agreed. Polly turned to Riza with her hands clasped at her breast.

“And Miss Hawkeye, you’ll come too, won’t you? I know you’ll have your hands full making food again this year, but you can just come and keep us company, if you’d like,” the older girl said hopefully. “It’s always nice to have another girl around; helps keep all those rowdy boys in line,” she added with a girlish giggle. Riza offered her a small, polite smile.

“I’m not sure that I’ll be much use with that, but I’ll come,” she said.

An hour later, the three teens settled around a table at the café with steaming mugs of cider in hand.

“So the school kids are putting on a play,” Polly explained, toying with a ring on her little finger. “It’s an interpretation of an old Amestrian novella, about a man who falls in love with a life-size doll.”

“You can’t mean _Olympia_?” Riza asked, frowning. “Doesn’t that story have a rather tragic ending?” Polly nodded.

“Yes, it was originally a horror story, but the kids don’t know that,” she said, with an indulgent smile. “See, the variation they’ve got was written by someone else, who changed a few things from the original when he made it into a play. The inventor, Coppola, is still a pretty bad guy, but he’s not a cold-blooded killer. In this version, Coppola’s in love with his doll himself, and he tricks Nicolas into falling for her too, so that he can lure him to his workshop. His plan is to bind Nicolas’s soul to the doll, which will supposedly bring her to life. But Nicolas is rescued by his jilted sweetheart Clara right before Coppola can actually go through with it, and of course Nicolas comes to his senses and begs Clara for her forgiveness, and they live happily ever after.” Riza listened with rapt attention.

“The inventor falls in love with his creation? That sounds more like Galatea and Pygmalion than _Olympia_ ,” she said, fascinated. “In the original novella, Nicolas goes mad and commits suicide when he learns the truth,” she explained in an aside to Roy, who looked a little lost.

“I think I prefer the version with the happy ending,” he said, smiling. “So, Miss Polly, what can I do to help?” Roy prompted.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Polly said. “Sorry, I’m too easily sidetracked. Anyway, we’ve been working on painting some sets and backdrops and things. There’s one of the village square, and then there’s Coppola’s workshop for the second act,” she began to explain.

Roy nodded and asked questions where necessary, making notes as well as suggestions. 

“Great!” Polly said at last. “We’ll have the sets finished in no time! Now all we have to worry about is Clara’s wedding gown. I’ve barely started on it, and I’m such a terrible seamstress,” she lamented. She eyed Riza speculatively. “Say…Miss Hawkeye, how are you at sewing?”

“It’s not my strongest skill,” she answered modestly.

“But you made the dress you’ve got on, didn’t you? I recognize the fabric from Mrs. Taylor’s shop.” Riza looked down at her hands.

“Yes, I did,” she said softly. Roy raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t known that. Trust a girl to notice the finer details, he thought.

“Well, then that just proves how good you are at sewing!” Polly cried. “I would never have been able to tell if I hadn’t seen the original fabric.”

“I…I’ve never made anything as nice as a wedding dress, though,” Riza started to say hesitantly.

“Oh, but it’s only a kid’s costume! It doesn’t have to be all perfect and fancy with the lace and frills, like a real wedding gown. It just has to be white, really, and sort of pretty-ish. I hate to impose, Miss Hawkeye, but would you please consider just stopping by to take a look at it for me? At least tell me where I’m going wrong? How I can improve? Oh please, please, say you will!” Roy watched with amusement as Riza’s shyness fell away, replaced by bright-eyed determination.

“If you need my help, then I’d be happy to. May I come tomorrow with Mr. Mustang, or are you working on the costumes somewhere different?” Polly looked as though she could hardly believe her luck.

“Oh, no, please do come with Mr. Mustang,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll bring along what we’ve got so far, and you and I will work on them while the others paint. We can make a party of it! I’ll tell everyone to bring snacks and everything. Oh, this will be fun!” she added, clapping her hands together again.

Her excitement was contagious, and Riza found herself offering to bring sandwiches. Polly cheerfully agreed, and then dashed away, saying she was going to be late getting home and that her mother would have her hide.

“I’m not entirely sure what just happened,” Riza said slowly as she and Roy left the café.

“I think you just offered to make food for half a dozen teenagers, who’re known for their locust-like appetites,” he laughed.

“I suppose I’ll need to stop by the shops today after all,” she sighed, shaking her head. “But I was actually talking about the costumes. If I didn’t know Miss Plummer better, I’d accuse her of using empty flattery to trick me into helping,” she chuckled.

“She’s probably been dying to ask you to help her with the costumes from the beginning but was afraid to,” Roy said wisely. “And her compliments on your sewing sounded pretty sincere to me. Hey, I didn’t know you made your own dresses.”

“Not all of them,” Riza mumbled, embarrassed. “And only for the past year or so. I’ve got a few simple patterns, and my mother’s old sewing machine is still in really good condition. It’s less expensive to buy fabric and make it up myself, rather than buying the finished product. It’s not like I have any need for the fashionable dresses, anyway,” she shrugged.

She had a point, there. She wasn’t some debutante in the big city, trying to impress her peers and potential suitors with a stylish trousseau. But in any event, Roy rather liked her simple dresses better.

“The simple patterns suit you,” he said simply, letting his eyes rake across her figure. “Take it from someone who sees the ‘latest and greatest’ fashions on a regular basis back home. Some of them look pretty ridiculous. All those poofs and frills just distract from a woman’s natural beauty. You’re better off just the way you are.”

Riza’s face glowed like the setting sun, and Roy’s heart skipped a beat as he recalled that his words, too, had the power to make her blush.

“Flatterer,” she mumbled darkly, self-consciously tucking her hands into her pockets as they walked. Roy just laughed.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, Miss Riza.”

* * *

 

**November 2-28**

_“Working on the sets for the play these past few weeks was a lot more fun than I’d ever have thought… but I bet you’re more interested in the Festival itself, aren’t you? Before I get to that, there are a few things I should tell you about first…”_

 

The following afternoon, Roy and Riza presented themselves at the school gymnasium, where Polly and the other kids had decided to meet. Riza brought along a small box containing her sewing materials, while Roy carried a covered basket packed with the sandwiches Riza had promised to make. They were greeted enthusiastically at the door by Polly, who led the way into the building, eager to introduce Roy to the others.

Polly had roped three other teens into helping out with the sets and props for the kids. One of them, a stocky sixteen year old called James, had a kid sister in the play who’d tagged along to ‘supervise.’  Olivia was a delicate little wisp of a creature who was to play the part of the doll—a non-speaking role which mostly involved sitting still and looking pretty. She had been terribly disappointed in her part, mostly because sitting still wasn’t exactly her strong suit. And indeed, she spent most of her time that first day exploring the gym, climbing the bleachers and humming tunelessly to herself.

The other two boys, twins Matt and Adam, were clever and mischievous fifteen year olds who delighted in impersonating each other and thoroughly confusing anyone who didn't know them well enough to tell them apart. After the initial awkwardness—the sort always experienced by someone new walking into a room full of people who already know one another very well—Roy found himself warming quickly to the younger teens.

James took charge of the group and explained that they already had several background sceneries available to them, painted on large swaths of canvas. Some were fairly generic, having been used for countless school plays before—a pine forest, a mountain landscape, a stormy sea, a cityscape with tall buildings. A few were more specific, like the one of the ball scene from _Cinderella_ , complete with dancing couples in the background.

For the three act play _Olympia_ , two of these pre-existing backdrops could be reused: a generic ‘small town’ setting for the village square in the first act, and the simple mountain landscape for the third and final act. The second act was the only one requiring an entirely new backdrop: the inventor’s workshop. Adam, who was good at drawing, had already sketched out a plan with the help of the children putting on the play. It was a delightfully dark and creepy piece, with unfinished life-sized puppet bodies dangling from the ceiling, and shadowy pillars topped with yellow-eyed gargoyles receding into the distance.

In addition to these canvas backdrops, they would need to either re-purpose existing set elements, or else build new ones to suit the play. Matt and Adam’s father, owner of the local hardware store, had generously agreed to donate any additional lumber they might need from his own stock.

“All right, so for the first act, we can use that piece left over from the balcony scene in _Romeo and Juliet_ for Olympia’s tower room,” James said, consulting a notebook. “We’ll just need to make sure the platform at the top of the staircase is still in good condition before we send Olivia up there.”

“And what about the tavern? If there isn’t already a store front or a house we can use, ‘Clara’ will at least need something with a door that she can hide behind to witness the part where ‘Nicolas’ is trying to flirt with ‘Olympia’ from the main stage,” Polly said.

“Um, wait, I think there was a house one…” James replied, flipping the pages. “Yep, here:  it’s got a working front door and a window. We can repaint the window to look more like a shop and less like a country house.”

“And it looks like the second act needs some kind of enclosed cabinet for ‘Olympia’s’ alcove,” Roy piped up, flipping the pages of the script he’d borrowed off Olivia. “Something that’s big enough for both girls to squeeze in. And enough room to maneuver, I guess, since they have to exchange costumes in there, too.”

“That one we’ll have to build,” Matt said. “Adam has some ideas for the design already,” he added.

“Yeah, here. I thought we could do something like this,” Adam said, passing around another of his drawings. “It’s got to have doors that close, but only three of the sides have to be real. I thought we could tack up a curtain across the back for when ‘Clara’ needs to hide in there with the doll.”

The others crowded around to look at his sketches, nodding and murmuring approvingly.

“Ok, now what about the church for the final scene?” James asked.

“I think we can get away with using some pillars draped in flowers for that,” Polly replied. “That’ll look nice if we’re going with the mountain background. I mean, it just has to look like a wedding; no one ever said it had to take place indoors, right?”

“Oh, there were a ton of flower garlands left over from our year, I think,” Matt added, looking up from his brother’s drawing.  “We did _Snow White_.”

“It was _Sleeping Beauty_ , moron,” his twin corrected, rolling his eyes.  “But you’re right about the garlands. The girls in charge of set dressing draped them across pretty much everything, for some reason.”

“All right, let’s go and find the bits we’re going to use, then,” Polly said, leaping to her feet. Notebook in hand, James led the group into the bowels of the school storage rooms.

They spent the next hour foraging for the set elements they needed and carefully carrying them back to the gymnasium.

“These seem awfully flimsy,” Roy commented as they maneuvered a large section of paneling around a corner. “Are they really going to stay up all right once they’re on stage?” 

“It’s a fine line between ‘flimsy’ and ‘too heavy for us to move,’” Polly explained with a smile. “But so long as no one barrels into them in the middle of the play, they’ll hold up all right once they’re set up. You’ll see.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, still eyeing the thin wooden panel skeptically. Polly didn’t respond, having spotted a rack with old costumes, which she pounced upon with a cry of delight.

“Hey, maybe we can salvage some of these!” she cried. “Miss Hawkeye, come and see what I just found!”

At last, they’d tracked down all of the set elements they’d agreed to use, plus a few smaller props, and piled them in the middle of their workspace.

“All right, now that you boys have a starting point, Miss Hawkeye and I are getting to work on these costumes. Holler if you need any help from us!” Polly said, her arms already full of the cotton and tulle and lace of the children’s costumes she’d found.

The boys started arranging the partially built backdrops across the gymnasium floor, rather like an over-sized jigsaw puzzle. As they worked, shifting pieces in relative silence, Roy overheard snatches of conversation between the two older girls. (Olivia had taken to singing an unidentifiable tune from somewhere above them. The top of the bleachers, Roy assumed.) It appeared that Polly wasn’t really a _bad_ seamstress; she’d just been rushing a bit in fear that she wouldn’t be able to finish in time. Riza gently and patiently showed her where she’d gone wrong, helping her tear out her sloppier stitches and mending several crooked hemlines. Roy smiled to himself, amused, thinking that spending this time with her peers was probably a good change in routine for Miss Riza.

Over the course of the next three weeks, the teens painted, cut, glued, hammered and sewed together as often as they were able. Roy, a social creature by nature, made the most of the opportunity to get to know the others. James was a kind and thoughtful boy, who treated his little sister like a fairy princess and smiled indulgently at her antics. Though she had a slight tendency to whine when over-tired, Olivia was a bright, imaginative little girl who adored her older brother and wanted nothing more than to be allowed to follow him everywhere he went. She quickly developed a crush on Roy, often attaching herself to whatever he was working on, regardless of whether her help was actually needed. Whenever she wasn’t shadowing him, she was twirling through the gym with her arms in the air, spinning to make the skirt of her dress flare out around her ‘like a ballerina.’

Though telling the twins apart had been difficult at first, Roy soon learned that Adam was the more sensitive and artistic twin, and Matt was far more blunt and had a wicked sense of humor. (It also helped that Olivia had whispered the trick into Roy's ear during one of her twirling circuits of the gym—Adam had a tiny scar at the bottom corner of his left eye from a childhood accident.) In addition to the original group, Edmund Kingsley dropped in whenever he had spare time, often bringing his very pretty sister Susan along. She always came bearing snacks for the group, courtesy of Mrs. Kingsley.

With every exchange of playful banter, every brush stroke, and every hammered nail, Roy grew more and more attached to the ragtag little group, and they to him. However, the real turning point in Roy’s developing friendships came after what should have been a terrible setback.

It happened barely a week before the Festival, just as they’d finally finished the most complicated set element: the doll’s cabinet. It was a large and rather fragile piece, more of a screen than an enclosed cabinet, with an open back that would eventually have a heavy linen curtain nailed across it. The doors in the front were carved with an ornate design of autumn leaves, which Adam and Matt had painstakingly cut out with their father’s assistance. Adam had insisted on painting the doors himself, though he allowed Roy to work on the plainer patterns on the other two sides. Once he’d finished with the doors, the others had gingerly moved it to one side of the gym and carefully propped it up against the wall to let the paint and sealant dry.

As they all stood back to admire Adam’s painstaking attention to detail, Olivia came dashing though the open door just to the left of the precariously balanced cabinet. Moving much too fast to change her trajectory, the little girl’s shoulder slammed into the edge of the cabinet with a resounding crack as she passed. Nine pairs of eyes watched in horror as the perfect little cabinet wobbled and fell in sickening slow motion, the delicate doors snapping into several splintery pieces all across the floor.

“Oh, no,” Susan gasped after a moment, breaking the stunned silence. Olivia promptly burst into tears.  

“Don’t cry, Miss Livy,” Roy said kindly, kneeling beside the distraught child. “It’s all right. You aren’t hurt anywhere, are you?”

“N-no. But I—I ruined it! And Adam and everyone worked so hard, and…and now it’s all broken! And it’s all _my_ fault!” she wailed, fast becoming inconsolable. The others shifted awkwardly, unable to disagree with her. Even her beloved older brother didn’t have any words of comfort at the ready. But Roy just smiled and patted her head gently.

“We can fix it up as good as new in no time,” he assured her.

Riza was already quietly shifting the shattered bits of wood into one place, and Roy was rummaging about in his coat pockets for the piece of chalk he usually kept there. The other teens, uncomprehending, could only watch apprehensively as Roy inscribed a circle around the remains of the cabinet, carefully marking out symbols along the circle’s edge. He worked quickly and fairly quietly, muttering to himself now and then as he rubbed something out or referred to a can of paint to verify something in the chemical composition.

After several long, tense minutes, Roy finally stood and brushed off his hands, walking to the edge of the circle closest to the group. 

“Stand back,” Riza instructed, gently leading Olivia away by the hand. The others, still silent, followed her without question. Roy waited until they were several feet away before kneeling down and placing his hands on the edge of the circle. 

“Here goes,” he said cheerfully.

The bluish-white light of an alchemic reaction snapped and sizzled along his array, and the broken panels began to knit themselves together, seamless and whole, as bright patches of paint realigned over the delicate patterns on the wood. As the last whispers of the reaction died down, Roy slowly rose to his feet, surveying the set piece before him. 

“Well,” he said softly. “The colors aren’t quite the same, but at least the doors are in one piece again.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he grinned at the shocked faces. “We still have plenty of time to repaint them, though,” he added.

“What the hell do you mean?!” Matt exclaimed, materializing right beside Roy and glaring daggers at him. Roy flinched, startled by his sudden movement, and shifted his weight nervously under the younger boy’s glare. But Matt hadn’t finished. “There’s nothing wrong with the colors—they’re absolutely perfect! If anything, the paint job looks even better than it did before! No offense,” he added, glancing at his brother. Adam just shrugged.

“No arguments here,” he said, brushing his hand over the perfectly formed doors that he’d spent so much of his time on. “It looks exactly the same to _me_ , at any rate.”

“That—that was amazing,” Polly whispered, slowly drawing closer with the others. Susan could only nod in agreement, her dark blue eyes as wide as saucers.

“You sure you’re just an apprentice?” Edmund added incredulously. Roy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but before he’d thought of a modest response, Olivia had thrown herself at him, locking her thin arms around his waist in a fierce, wordless hug. 

“I think she means ‘thank you,’” James added, clapping a hand on Roy’s shoulder with shining eyes.

Riza, standing slightly behind the rest of the teens, smiled brightly when Roy looked in her direction, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Before he had time to frown at her false smile, though, he was being dragged away by Polly and Susan and the others, who were determined to treat him to dinner in appreciation of his skills.

 

After that day, there was a subtle shift in the way the other teens related to Roy. It was almost as though they were anxious to prove how thoroughly he’d been accepted as one of them. Both embarrassed and pleased by the attention, Roy started spending a lot of his free time in town with his new friends, even when they weren’t actually working on Festival preparations. He persuaded Riza to come along several times, but she often bowed out, claiming she had too much work to do but refusing any help. She always insisted that he go ahead and have fun, and that he not trouble himself on her account. Roy also noticed that while he was growing ever more excited for the Harvest Festival, Riza was becoming more pensive and withdrawn with each passing day.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that it had something to do with her father. Hawkeye-sensei was spending much of his time locked in his lab these days. He’d emerge after being holed up inside for a day or two—just long enough to have a bite to eat, get a few hours of sleep, glance over Roy’s work and assign him books and articles to read or problems to be completed for the following week. And then he’d disappear back into his lab, starting the cycle all over again. Riza had never seen her father behave that way before, and it distressed her that he was neglecting his health.

But, as Roy would learn on the morning before the Harvest Festival, her concern over her father’s obsessive behavior wasn’t the only thing that had been weighing on Riza’s mind.

Despite his lack of baking experience, Roy had offered to help Riza bake the apple pies she traditionally contributed for the Festival. He was at least capable of peeling apples and entertaining Riza while she mixed ingredients and rolled out dough, he pointed out, and so Riza had accepted his offer with a teasing remark and a soft smile. As they stood side by side, peeling and coring tart green apples, Roy realized that Riza was studying his profile with a troubled expression. Riza saved him the trouble of asking her what was on her mind by broaching the topic herself.

“Mr. Mustang,” she began softly. “It’s all right if you’ve changed your mind, you know.”

“Changed my mind?” Roy repeated stupidly. “About what?”

“About going to the Harvest Festival with me. If there’s someone else you’d rather go with instead, it’s okay. I won’t be mad,” she explained, deftly slicing her apple into perfect, equally sized sections. Roy slowly lowered his own knife, staring at her in shock.

“Someone else? Wait, what are you talking about?” Riza glanced at him as she reached for another apple, her brown eyes very serious and…slightly sad, Roy thought.

“You’ve made several friends in town since you asked me. If there was someone else you wanted to take; if you regretted asking me to go with you, I mean…I just wanted to tell you that I wouldn’t be offended if you changed your mind.” As she spoke, Roy’s stomach twisted into knots. Where was this all coming from? Unless…did _she_?

“Miss Riza…was there someone else that _you_ wanted to go with?” Roy asked. He thought about handsome Peter Kingsley and desperately hoped that his hunch was wrong.

“What, me?” she replied, frowning at him. “No, there’s no one else.”

“Then what’s all this about?” he countered, still concerned despite the flood of warmth that rushed through him with her denial. Riza colored slightly and focused her eyes on the apple in her hand.

“You get along really well with Miss Plummer…and Miss Kingsley. People who’ve seen you together have been talking, wondering which of them you would ask. And I thought…suppose you _did_ want to take one of them to the Festival on a–on a proper date. Instead of just going with me as friends,” she continued, still speaking to the apple rather than to Roy.

“Riza Hawkeye,” Roy said sternly. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re _jealous_?” That got her attention. She snapped her head around to look at him.

“I—what?” she gasped, surprised. “No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

“Then what _do_ you mean?” he demanded, abandoning apple and knife entirely and turning to face her.

“I…I just thought,” she stammered out, clenching her paring knife reflexively. “You’ve seemed really happy, hanging out with Miss Plummer and all the others over these past few weeks. And I didn’t want you to feel obligated to spend time at the Festival with me if you’d rather be with her—I mean, with them.”

Roy snorted in spite of himself. Riza rounded on him, eyes flashing.

“Don’t laugh! I’m being serious!” she snapped.

“I’m sorry, really,” he backpedaled, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture and mindful of the knife she was still gripping tightly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me for thinking better of you than you deserve,” she grumbled.

“All right, now you’ve lost me again,” Roy said. Riza huffed impatiently.

“Look, I heard… _someone_ talking in town. About you, and Miss Kingsley, and Miss Plummer. And I started thinking about it, wondering if I was standing in your way. If there was someone else you _really_ wanted to go with but couldn’t ask because you were just being polite and honoring a previous commitment,” she narrowed her eyes sharply as Roy tried to hide another snort of amusement with an unconvincing cough. “It’s not that funny, Mr. Mustang.”

“No, of course not, it’s just…I mean, I like the others well enough, and the girls are nice and all. But I like you, too. I asked you to go with me because it sounded like something fun we could do together, and because I wanted to spend time with you. I like spending time with you. I’m not harboring any secret desires to ask another girl I like better, okay?”

Riza chanced a look at him from under her lashes, unintentionally coy. God, she really had no idea how adorable she was, did she?

“You really mean that?” she asked.

“Of course I do! Why would I lie about something like that?” Roy retorted. “Now stop trying to be all noble and self-sacrificing. I appreciate it and all, but it’s completely unnecessary.” Riza sputtered in indignation, and Roy pretended to cower behind a pie plate held up like a shield.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said fondly, unable to hide her smile.

“I try,” he replied with mock-modesty. And then, more seriously: “Do you believe me?” Riza looked up from the flour she’d started measuring out. She studied his face for just a moment.

“I do,” she said sincerely. “But honestly, I _wouldn’t_ have held it against you.”

“Riza, so help me, if you start all that again,” Roy said darkly. She smacked his wrist with a wooden spoon.

“Don’t interrupt!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, ducking his head. Riza glared at him, but Roy could tell that she was fighting a smile.

“I was going to suggest that we try and meet up with the others, tomorrow night. They all really seem to like you.”

“Mm, it’s not just me. They like you, too,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll run into them, at some point. But until we do, you’ll have to show me all the highlights yourself. Think you can handle that?” he teased.

“Oh, I can handle you just fine. But you’ll have to keep up with me,” she replied archly. “Now come on. Mrs. James is coming around to pick up the pies in a few hours; we have a lot of work to do yet.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Roy said with a mock salute. And with a pair of soft, not-quite-shy smiles, they returned their attention to their baking.

* * *

 

**November 29**

The following evening, just before sunset, Roy bounded downstairs, barely able to contain his excitement. Miss Riza was waiting for him, pulling her dark red coat over a very pretty white dress, which Roy was certain he’d never seen before.

“I like your dress,” he said, grinning. “You look nice.” Riza flushed.

“Thank you,” she replied. “You do, too.”

“Thanks! So are we ready?”

“Yes. Let’s go!”

“And just where exactly are you two headed?” The two teens whipped around in surprise. Berthold drifted into the room, looking like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. Which he most likely hadn’t.

“Papa!” Riza cried, recovering her wits first. “We were going to go to the Harvest Festival,” she explained, eyeing him carefully. The concerned furrow Roy was beginning to hate reappeared on her brow. “But I can stay if there was anything you needed?” she added solicitously. Berthold frowned slightly.

“No, no…I’m all right, child. The Harvest Festival, hm? So it’s already that time again?” he mumbled half to himself. Abruptly, he fixed his piercing stare on Roy. “Oh yes, yes, music and dancing and games and such, that’s right. I remember. Go on, then,” he waved his hands at them in a vaguely dismissive gesture and turned towards the stairs.

“Er, sensei?” Roy spoke up, a little timidly. “Uh, well…Miss Riza made some of that beef stew that you like so much, last night. Shall we heat some for you, before we go? You should probably eat before you rest.” He held his breath, waiting for the disdainful outburst he and Riza had heard more than once.

“Ah, yes,” Berthold sighed. “The body is merely the transport of the mind, after all. And one must maintain the transport lest the mind succumb to the weaknesses of the flesh, and then flicker and fade away,” he mumbled, redirecting his steps to the kitchen. He stopped suddenly and looked over his shoulder at the teenagers hesitating in the foyer. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he barked. “I can heat a bowl of stew myself, I think. Go on. Have fun. Do…whatever it is that you kids do at these things.”

“Y-yes, Papa,” Riza said, stammering a little in her confusion.

“And don’t stay out too late,” Berthold added, almost as an afterthought as he shuffled back into the kitchen.

“Yes, sir!” Roy answered. He and Riza shared a bewildered look. “Think we should check on him?” he asked her under his breath. They could hear sounds of the icebox door opening and the clinking of a metal pot on the stovetop echoing down the hall. Riza hesitated.

“No-oo” she said slowly. “No, I think it’s all right. He’ll just go to bed as soon as he’s eaten, like he has these past few times. My ‘hovering about’ only annoys him, remember?” Still, she hesitated, glancing between the front door and the hallway leading to the kitchen.

“We’ll check him as soon as we get home, okay?” Roy said, gently touching Riza’s arm. She smiled up at him.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Riza said, as they approached the town. “Do you have a Harvest Festival back home?”

“Nope, not really,” Roy replied. “There isn’t much in the way of seasonal change in Central,” he explained. “I mean, there’s usually snow in the winter, but aside from that there’s not a noticeable change from spring to summer to fall. In fact, some days in the fall are hotter than in the middle of the summer, you know?”

“Right. I think I read that, somewhere,” Riza nodded.

“And, you know, we’re all urban, so we really don’t have a harvest to celebrate, not like you folks do here. Our big festival is the Winter Solstice on the 21st of December. It’s the shortest day of the year, so the celebration starts as soon as it gets dark,” he continued. “They have food stalls and things like that, with popcorn and hot chocolate. They line the streets with luminaries and hang paper lanterns and things in the trees; it’s really pretty. And there are always fireworks at the end of the night.”

“That sounds nice,” Riza said, smiling. “I’d like to see fireworks one day. They must be beautiful.”

“You’ll have to come and visit me back home, one day,” Roy replied, smiling down at her. “Then you can judge for yourself.”

As they rounded the last curve of the road into town, the smell of fried dough and grilled meat mingled with the sounds of a few hundred people chattering together in excitement, and Roy’s smile turned into the impish grin of an excited child.

“Where to first?” he asked.

“This way!” Riza replied, her eyes sparkling.

They made their way over to the games right off, waving at the people who called out greetings as they passed. Roy failed abysmally at the balloon and dart game, which he grumbled must be rigged. Until Riza shocked both him and the old gentleman who was running the game into silence by neatly popping all five of her balloons and winning a handsome fan, hand-painted with gold leaves on a red silk background. Determined to win the next game, Roy promised to give Riza whatever he won, and ended up conquering the ring toss after only two tries.

Many of the prizes for the games had been donated by a well-known toy maker from one of the larger towns relatively close to the village, in exchange for quarterly shipments of the Pippin's finest hard cider. It was actually an arrangement dating back three generations, Riza explained, when one of the Pippin girls had married into the toy maker’s family. Roy carefully examined the various toys he was allowed to choose from, impressed by the craftsmanship—the dolls and animal figurines were largely carved in wood and hand painted, and much finer than any of the toys he’d seen in similar carnivals back home.

After some deliberation, he selected a set of wooden nesting dolls to present to Riza, who was delighted by his choice. The largest figure was a blue and green dragon with iridescent green wings, painted to look as though he was rising from a placid lake. Inside of the dragon figure was a bright-eyed silvery unicorn with a pale lavender horn, which had garlands of spring flowers draped around its neck. The unicorn housed a golden phoenix with curls of red and orange flame making up his plumage, which opened to reveal a black-haired mermaid with a tail of dark red scales, clothed in pale pink shells and ropes of pearls, which in turn opened to reveal a tiny fairy with purple and yellow butterfly wings and a mysterious smile.

“Oh, this is lovely!” Riza cried, minutely examining each successive figure. “I wonder whether Mr. Tackleton imports these from Drachma or paints them all himself?”

“They’re really something else,” Roy agreed, looking over her shoulder. “Look at the detail on the dragon’s wings!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?” Riza protested, resealing each doll in its proper place as she spoke. “It was your win.”

“Nope, I promised. It’s yours, fair and squ—,” Roy started to say.

“Oh, hello there Mr. Mustang! And Miss Hawkeye! I’ve been wondering whether you two would turn up tonight!” a loud voice to their left called. The two of them turned as one to see who’d spoken.

“Mrs. White, we were just wondering where they’d hidden your booth,” Roy replied smoothly, immediately reaching out to touch the delicate paper toys she was selling. “Wow, these are almost as pretty as you are. Do you make all of them yourself?” Riza watched in amusement as Mrs. White swatted his arm with a coquettish giggle.

Roy promptly set about bankrupting himself choosing ornaments for each of his sisters. Pretty Sarah Granger, who was helping Mrs. White run the stall, raised her eyebrows and asked him just how many sweethearts he had. When told they were for his aunt and her friends back home, she simpered and batted her eyelashes. Warily, Roy looked around for any sign of Sarah’s brother while Riza quivered with ill-concealed laughter. In the end he chose flowers for each of them, in different shapes and colors, though he took some time deliberating over the ones he wanted.

“Yellow or pink for Ada, I think. Which do you like better between these two?” he’d ask, turning to Riza every few moments. At least he had eight flowers and a delicate little horse for his aunt. “It’s kind of a running joke,” he explained, “getting each other horse-themed gifts. Mustang, get it? She gave me the ugliest scarf one year, all covered in white ponies.” Sarah giggled and Mrs. White laughed heartily. Even Mr. White, a very stoic older gentleman who rarely spoke in Roy’s presence, grinned widely at the idea.

Mrs. White was so pleased with his purchase, she forgot to ask him for his opinion on her famous dressing, and Roy held his breath as they waved goodbye, hardly daring to believe his luck.

“I can’t believe I got away with it,” he laughed, the flat box with his origami flowers into the large pocket of his overcoat.

“It’s early yet,” Riza warned him. “And she was distracted by the horse story. She may still hunt you down, you know.”

“Spoilsport,” Roy groaned. “Hey, do you think the play has started yet? I wanted to see how it all ends up, with the sets and all!”

“I think they’ve only just begun,” Riza replied, craning her neck for a better view of the clock tower in the center of town. “Come on, if we hurry we can probably still find seats.”

The play turned out to be a rousing success, and Roy and Riza cheered as loudly as the rest when the kids took their final bows. Their teacher, a slender brunette with a kind face, came out as the children filed off stage after their final bows. She said a few words thanking the volunteers who’d helped make the production possible, even listing off the names of each of the teens who’d worked on the sets. Roy flushed scarlet when several heads swiveled in his direction as his name was called. Riza chuckled a little at his embarrassment.

“You ought to be used to all the staring by now,” she said as he ducked his head slightly.

“Well, it’s not like I need the extra attention,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Even after seven months I’m still the new guy. Hey, want to go and get something to eat while the band sets up? Mrs. White mentioned they were planning to set up big dance floor after the play was done.”

“All right. What do you feel like eating?” Riza asked.

“Whatever has the longest line,” Roy said with a grin. Two enormous turkey legs, a caramel apple, and a grilled ear of corn later, they spotted the twins standing in line for the wagon ride to the Granger’s corn field maze. Matt and Adam looked up at the same moment.

“Hey, you guys!” the twins cried in unison.

“Wanna come to the maze with us?” Adam asked.

“We’ll make it a game! Hide and seek,” Matt added.

“Dummy, who’d be it?” Adam retorted, rolling his eyes. As Matt swelled and prepared to launch into a rant at his twin, Roy caught Riza’s eye.

“Actually, we were just on our way back over to the dance floor,” Roy said, smoothly interrupting the impending argument.

“Eh, dancing’s boring,” Matt said dismissively. Adam socked him in the arm.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if a certain girl asked you to dance, would you?” he said sweetly. As his twin flushed scarlet, Adam smiled beatifically at Riza and Roy. “Have fun, you guys! We’ll see you after, at the bonfire, yeah?”

As they drew closer to the dance floor, Riza slowed slightly, her expression growing increasingly apprehensive.

“What’s wrong?” Roy asked, nudging her gently.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, reddening.

“Riza,” Roy said in a low voice. “Come on, what is it? You can tell me.” She glanced around, hyper-aware of the curious eyes on them as Roy leaned closer to her.

“It-it’s really nothing,” she replied. “I just…” she sighed. “I don’t know how to dance, okay?”

“Oh, is that all?” Roy said. “Well come on, I’ll teach you.” Tugging her along by their joined hands, he maneuvered them towards a less crowded section of the designated dance floor.

“You really don’t have to—I can just sit and watch while you dance…there are plenty of girls who’ll need partners,” she protested feebly, but allowed him to lead her along. Roy chose to act as though he hadn’t heard her over the music. He glanced around at the other couples for a moment, and then nodded.

“This one’s just a simple waltz. OK, so, first things first. Your left hand goes here,” he explained, placing it on his shoulder as he spoke. “And my right goes on your waist, like this. Then I take your right hand in my left, like so. Ok, now, keep your eyes on mine, and try not to look down at your feet,” he added. “Starting with your left foot, you’ll step back, then to the side, then bring both feet together…forward, side, together…back, side, together…one, two, three…one, two, three,” he said, gently nudging her through the steps as he spoke. “You got that? Okay, then, ready?”

“Um, I guess so…” she said uncertainly. But to her surprise, it wasn’t all that difficult. Roy continued to murmur rudimentary instructions in her ear as they started to move.

“Back, side, together…forward, side, together. Yes, that’s it, just like that. Want to try turning, like the other couples are?” Without waiting for an answer, he gently guided her along, until they were spinning like the other couples. More than one pair of admiring eyes watched them as they circled the floor, blissfully unaware of the gossip they were fueling.

“How’d you learn to dance, anyway?” Riza asked two waltzes and a two-step later, pink cheeked and smiling in pleasure.

“My sisters taught me so they’d have a boy to practice with,” he laughed. “Before that they always complained that they had to learn every dance twice—leading and following. They were always afraid of slipping up and trying to lead their partners by accident in the middle of a dance.”

“Sisters?” Riza said in a tone of surprise. “Since when have you had siblings? You’ve never mentioned them.”

Roy grinned a little sheepishly.

“Sure, I have. I’ve just never referred to them as my _sisters_ in front of you before,” he explained. “We’re not actually related, you see. I’m talking about the girls that work for my aunt.” Understanding dawned on Riza’s features.

“Oh! You mean Sophie and Juliet and Ada and the others? The ones you were getting presents for, a while ago?” Roy nodded.

“Yep, those are the ones.”

“You consider them _sisters_ ,” she said, as if to herself. “Oh, now that explains a few things.” Roy laughed again, throwing his head back in sheer delight.

“Like what?” he chortled. Riza smiled shyly, and Roy’s heart skipped a beat when she caught his eye.

“Oh, just a few things I’d wondered about, that’s all,” she said, completely unaware of the effect she was having on her friend. Dimly aware that the music had changed again, Riza glanced around. “Okay, now what’s this one?” she asked. “The music sounds different.” With effort, Roy tore his eyes away from her face to look around.

Couples all around them were holding each other just a little too close and swaying gently to the beat, without any real form or formality to their movements.

“Ah. This is just, um, just a slow dance. It’s mostly just…swaying in place. Together,” Roy said, just a little thickly.

“Oh good, that sounds easy,” Riza replied, clearly relieved. To Roy’s shock and everlasting delight, she stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, taking her cue from the couples nearest them. Roy obligingly rested both hands on her waist and turned them in a slow, lazy circle with measured, swaying steps.

To their left, Roy spotted Peter Kingsley with a pretty, diminutive blond in a red dress. She might have been Riza’s older sister, with her corn silk blonde hair, creamy skin and wide hazelnut eyes. Riza followed his gaze to see what had caught his attention. To Roy’s surprise, she smiled brightly at the pair. Shouldn’t she be upset, seeing him dancing with someone else? Unless…maybe she didn’t have a crush on Peter after all? Hope swelled in his chest.

“That’s Mr. Kingsley’s girlfriend, Marie Thresher,” Riza said softly, leaning closer so that Roy could hear her over the music. “Isn’t she pretty?” Roy, staring down at the slender blonde in his arms, nodded.

“Yeah. She really is.”

Riza didn’t even notice that his eyes never left her face.

The song came to an end, then. Peter caught sight of them and moved in their direction, his girlfriend in tow, just as the band struck up a faster song.

“Roy, hi! Do you mind if I borrow your partner for a little while?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he bowed gallantly to Riza. “Miss Hawkeye, may I have this dance?” he said, his smile nearly blinding. Before he’d even finished speaking, his girlfriend had been whisked away by someone else, and Roy found himself shunted to the sidelines, alone. He sighed.

“You're good for her,” said a familiar voice practically in his ear. Roy whirled to find Edmund and Polly standing just behind him, both holding steaming cups of something.

“Beg pardon?” he asked, though he’d heard Polly perfectly well. She simply rolled her eyes.

“You heard me. She’d never have come out like this; danced and laughed and played with all of us, if not for you,” she said. Edmund was nodding sagely at his cousin’s side. “You pull her out of that serious little head of hers,” Polly added. “Get her to let down those walls a little bit. I think you’re good for her.”

“Thanks, I guess. She’s worth the effort,” Roy replied with a fond smile. The trio fell silent, simply watching Peter dancing with Riza, whose cheeks were pink from the exercise. She was smiling at something the older boy had said, and the pretty picture they made caused Roy’s heart to beat just a little bit faster.

“Are we just gonna stand here staring at them all night, or is anyone around here planning to ask me to dance?” Polly said suddenly, swatting her cousin good-naturedly when he made a face at her.

“Forgive my negligence, dear lady. Mistress Polly, will you do me the very great honor?” Roy said in a pompous tone, with a low, sweeping bow and a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, come on, you,” she laughed, and dragged him out onto the floor.

When the song ended, Polly was claimed by a tall young man Roy hadn’t met yet. He seemed to be her beau, if the way they were looking at each other was any indication. Across the floor, Roy spotted Riza agreeing to dance with James, so he made his way over to the sidelines where James had been standing up until then. Sure enough, little Olivia, still in her costume from the play, was sitting morosely on the hay bales lining the floor, watching the happy pairs whirling by. Susan, who had been sitting nearby, pouted a bit when Roy asked Olivia to dance rather than her, but it was hard to be irritated in the face of Olivia’s obvious joy and excitement.

He did eventually dance with Susan, and then Marie, then Polly again, and another two other girls whose names he didn’t know before he finally found Riza in his arms again.

“There you are,” he smiled down at her. “I was starting to think you’d abandoned me to my fate.”

“What would that be? Having to dance with every eligible female under the age of thirty five in this town?” she teased, sounding a little breathless.

“I never said it was an unpleasant fate,” he teased back. “But are you getting tired?” he asked thoughtfully. “Do you want to sit for a bit?”

“I am a bit tired,” she admitted. “But I’d rather finish this song before we rest. Is that all right with you?” It was a slow song, so naturally Roy had no objections. They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they swayed together.  When the song ended, Roy pulled away reluctantly and allowed Riza to lead them off the dance floor.

“Where should we go?” Roy asked her. “Do you want to get some cocoa or something?”

“Mm, sure, that sounds good. Then we can head over to the school; they’ll be lighting the bonfire soon.”

Steaming beverages in hand, they made their way behind the gym to the open field where the bonfire had been set up. They settled side by side on one of the benches arranged in circles all around the tall wooden structure, which was being lit by a trio of men that Roy did not recognize. All around them, families and couples and small knots of friends were descending on the other available benches or spreading out quilts to sit on, close enough to the fire to feel the warmth of the blaze. The music that had been playing for the dancers in the main square had stopped a few minutes later, and then the only sound beside the snaps and pops of the fire was the low murmuring of the people settled comfortably around it.

Sleepy and content with Riza’s warmth flush against his right side, Roy let his eyes drift over the crowd. He smiled at a pair of children nearby, who were making a valiant effort to stay awake even as their little heads drooped low over their ice cream cones. He smiled wider when he saw Polly and the unknown young man from earlier sitting as close as was considered decent in a public place. Her head was lying on his shoulder, and his cheek was pressed against the top of her head. On the other side of the circle, he saw either Adam or Matt sprint by, holding something over his head. Rick Shepherd and Tom Granger were hot on his heels, red-faced and shouting. The other twin stood looking on with a wide grin, alongside a faintly amused Harry Crofter and Sarah Granger, who simply looked puzzled. Roy waved at James, who had a stuffed bear larger than Olivia in one arm and his little sister swinging from the other. Looking around, he understood completely why Riza hadn’t ever come to the Festival on her own.

“This is nice,” he said softly, glancing down at Riza. She smiled faintly, warming her hands on her cocoa.

“Once the blaze really gets going, the dancers will start up again,” Riza said. “They line up in a big ring around the fire, and circle round and round for hours, without any music…my mom and I stayed up until midnight once, just watching them.” Her voice had turned slightly wistful.

Roy slid his arm around her in a gentle one-armed hug. She leaned into the embrace, and would have rested her head on his shoulder if a loud wail hadn’t startled them both and ruined the tender moment. The noise came from one of the small children that Roy had been watching earlier. He had finally nodded off and dropped his ice cream, only to jolt back awake seconds later and discover his loss. Though he cursed his own poor luck, Roy couldn’t help but laugh.

“That kid scared the life out of me,” he admitted, chuckling. “I was about to say: we can stay and watch however long you’d like. Whenever you want to head back, just say the word.”

“Let’s just stay a little while longer,” she said in reply. “We do have a long walk ahead of us.” And she relaxed just enough so that her left thigh rested lightly against Roy’s right.

* * *

 

In the end, they didn’t have to walk back to the Hawkeye estate. Dr. James, spotting them as they rose to leave, had hurried up to them and insisted on giving them a lift back. Riza and Roy, who had both started shivering the moment they moved away from the heat of the fire, accepted gratefully. And a short drive later, they stood together on the porch and waved until the good doctor’s taillights were out of sight. Riza paused with her hand on the door knob and turned to look up at Roy.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang,” she said, quietly. “For encouraging me to go to the Festival. I would never have gone on my own, and I really had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Me, too,” he said, squeezing her hand. Suddenly struck by how much this felt like saying goodnight to a girl at her door after a first date, Roy was tempted to steal a kiss. He wondered how hard Riza would slap him if he did. But then she was turning away to open the door, and the opportunity was lost.

Riza darted upstairs to make sure her father was in bed as he’d promised, and Roy double checked that all the lights were off and the doors and windows were secure. They met again at the top of the stairs and walked down the hall towards their rooms together. When they reached Riza’s door, Roy hesitated for just a split second before leaning down and pressing his lips against her cheek in a sweet, chaste kiss.

“Good night, Miss Riza,” he said softly as he pulled back. Her eyes wide and stunned, she looked as though she was unsure of what her reaction was supposed to be. Heart pounding, Roy offered her a small but sincere smile. “See you in the morning?”

“I…yes, see you in the morning,” she managed. “Good night, Mr. Mustang. Sleep well.” Roy fled down the hall to his room, half-amused at himself for getting so flustered over such an innocent kiss, and half ecstatic that he’d taken the chance.


	10. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris's girls return to tease their adopted foster brother, Roy and Riza stargaze and maybe cuddle a little, and Roy learns that his poker face needs a LOT of work when he utterly fails at resisting an interrogation.

**December 3**

“You were right, Vee!” a bright and cheerful voice called out from Veronica’s bedroom doorway.

“I usually am. What about, this time?” Veronica retorted as she rose to greet her golden-haired visitor with a cheeky smile. Lucy just laughed and pushed a letter into the older girl’s hands.

“The letter—it _did_ come today! Here, read for yourself,” she said. “Oh, and could you take it to Claire and Sophie once you’re through? They’re last, this time. I’ve got to get back, but we really need to talk after you’ve read it, okay?” Lucy added, halfway out the door already.

“Sure thing,” Veronica answered absently, skimming the opening lines of Roy’s letter. She sank into an armchair as her blue eyes flicked rapidly across the page. Dimly, she heard her father exchange pleasantries with Lucy as their paths crossed on the front steps. “Well, this _is_ interesting…” she murmured, flipping the page over.

She hesitated for just a moment and spared a glance at the clock. Claire and Sophie shared lodgings across town, and Veronica was certain that they would both be home at this time of the day. Pulling on her coat as she took the stairs two at a time, Veronica rushed out the front door, pausing briefly to drop a kiss on her father’s head. He just smiled indulgently at her departing back, well aware that she’d discuss the Mustang boy’s latest antics with him once she returned.

Less than twenty minutes later, a slightly breathless Veronica sprawled languidly on the loveseat in her friends’ parlor, waving her hand dismissively at Claire’s polite offer of tea. At Veronica’s insistence, Claire took the letter and read it aloud for Sophie’s benefit.

“Wait…that’s it? That’s really all he wrote?” Claire asked, turning the sheet over and over in her hands after she’d finished. “I can’t believe him!” she huffed, tossing the letter down on the coffee table in front of her. Sophie, who was darning a silk stocking in an armchair to Claire’s left, glanced up from her work with a wry smile.

“He’s skipped an awful lot of details, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Bit suspicious,” Veronica agreed. “He’s been building up to the main even for weeks now, and this is all we get? Talk about anti-climactic.” She shifted obligingly when Claire gently nudged her, allowing the brunette to sink down beside her on the loveseat. Claire promptly folded her legs under herself and frowned deeply.

“He went on and on about that play and all those sets last week, and he describes the other kids in almost painful detail,” she mused. “But then he barely spends a paragraph on the actual festival? We do all agree that he’s hiding something, right?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Sophie said, and Veronica nodded firmly.

“I’m afraid he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with, here,” Veronica sighed. “A rookie mistake.”

“Agreed,” Sophie interjected. “But wait just a moment. Madame told me something earlier that you two ought to hear,” she added, setting her sewing aside at last.

“Hm? What’s that?” Veronica and Claire both looked up hopefully.

“Guess who’s coming home for the Winter Solstice?” Sophie said, eyes sparkling.

“No…” Claire breathed.

“D’you mean—?” Veronica gasped, sitting up fully.

“Yep. And he’ll be here for two whole weeks,” Sophie said, a cat-like little smile on her lips. Veronica’s face lit up, as did Claire’s.

“Are you sure?” Claire cried. “He’s coming for certain this time?”

“Madame got a letter from his teacher just yesterday,” Sophie confirmed. “And the train tickets are all booked and everything; Elinor and I mailed them off for her first thing this morning.”

Veronica’s smile had turned ever so slightly feral.

“Oh, that’s just perfect,” she said, practically rubbing her hands together in glee. “We’ll have fourteen whole _days_ to interrogate him and get to the bottom of this.”

“Well, more like twelve, with his traveling time,” Claire added pragmatically. “But still…oh, this will be fun. Do the others know?”

“Aside from Elinor, not yet. I’m working tonight, though, so I’ll spread the word,” Sophie said, grinning. “I’m thinking we should plan a welcome home party for him. We can even invite his school friends.”

“Oh, good idea. Put him at ease before we strike,” Veronica giggled.

“Poor kid won’t know what hit him,” Claire sighed in mock pity. The three of them fell silent, each plotting and scheming.

“Ten bucks says he finally kissed her,” Veronica said casually.

“You’re on!” the other two girls cried in unison. 

* * *

 

**December 4– 15**

About a week after the Harvest Festival, the weather shifted from warm with occasional brisk periods to downright chilly and damp. Bitterly cold winds dashed icy raindrops against the windows and whistled angrily past the eaves. In the mornings, Riza struggled to light the fire in the sitting room with shaking hands and chattering teeth while Roy braved the outdoors to fetch in wood.

Although there were occasional scattered showers and even one little snow flurry, Roy noticed that there hadn’t yet been a proper snowfall. At this time of year, back home, everything would be coated in glistening blankets of snow, but here….any sort of precipitation, even the frost, simply melted into an unpleasant sort of muddy dampness by noon. When he asked Riza about it, she explained that they rarely got enough snow to stick.

“Usually it’s just very cold and windy this time of year, until about February. Sometimes we get a little bit of snow, then,” she said, poking another log into the fire. “But we’re still more likely to get cold rain or hailstorms than real snow.”

The teens spent their days huddled close to the fire reading, studying, and occasionally listening to the radio. But mostly they kept an eye out for Berthold, who stalked between his study (where a second fire always burned cheerfully) and his lab, pausing only to demand answers from one or the other of them as he passed by. After his latest locked-in-the-basement session, he’d been fixated on particularly difficult lessons, pushing Roy to his absolute limits. He was even spending more time tutoring his daughter, making her translate and then recite page after page of difficult Cretan poetry for him, turning disdainfully cold whenever she got a word or an accent wrong. At a loss, the two children could only assume the foul weather was affecting his temper, study harder, and take comfort in each other’s company when they could.

* * *

 

**December 16**

After a long and drizzly weekend, the Monday before Roy’s winter break dawned cold and clear. He wanted to spend some time outdoors while he had the opportunity, but he knew his teacher would have a fit if he wasn’t prepared for his oral exam the following morning. So he resolutely turned his back on the pale wintery sunlight streaming in through the windows and dove into his studies with determined focus.  

Roy’s grumbling stomach finally roused him several hours later, and he shuffled wearily into the kitchen. What he found there was just odd enough to cut through the haze of exhaustion and incite his curiosity: for the first time in months, Roy’s supper was left out for him on a table set for one.

There were no dishes in the sink, and no other evidence that Riza had even been in the kitchen today. Frowning, Roy wolfed his supper down quickly, almost without tasting anything, and tried to recall the last time he’d actually seen her. Not since breakfast, he decided, when he’d made toast while she’d scrambled their eggs. They’d shared a pot of coffee and read in companionable silence over the simple meal (he a heavy chemistry text, she a well-worn 19th century novel that she’d offered to lend him once she finished.) And afterwards, they’d drifted off along their own separate ways, as they often did. But then he’d become so engrossed in his studies that he’d skipped lunch. And _that_ was unusual—Riza normally either called him to eat with her or brought him something light if it looked like he was too busy to take a proper break. Why hadn’t she done so today? Could she be avoiding him intentionally?

Roy was forcibly reminded of the earliest days of his apprenticeship, where he’d sometimes gone days without seeing either of the Hawkeyes. Days where he’d only heard faint footsteps echoing down the halls, always moving away from him. Thinking about it now sent a shiver down his spine. Surely Riza wouldn’t suddenly regress to that behavior without reason…

So had he upset her somehow? She’d certainly seemed fine at breakfast, if a bit on the quiet side…maybe she just wanted to be alone for a little while? But even on those days where she slipped off on her own, she’d always met up with Roy for the evening meal. Until now, that is. Perhaps she was avoiding her father and not Roy? Hawkeye-sensei certainly _had_ been on the warpath lately. Although that idea seemed highly unlikely given that she willingly sought Berthold out even during his most negative moods. And Berthold never ate together with them anyway, so Riza wouldn’t need to circumvent the kitchen to keep from running into _him_.

Roy sighed. He knew he was overthinking things. It wasn’t as though they _had_ to eat every meal together, he supposed…and Miss Riza _had_ left food out for him, so he wasn’t exactly being _ignored_ …but it still stung a little. And it was still _unusual_.

He peered out at the gathering darkness as he washed up after his solitary meal. Would Riza be outdoors, at this time of day? Maybe she’d gone out walking and lost track of time, and was even now finding her way back home in the chilly twilight. Ought he to go and look for her? Roy vacillated back and forth, noting that her coat was hanging in the hall closet and that her bedroom stood open and empty. She wasn’t in the parlor or the living room, either. But where on earth could she have gone out of doors without a coat?

Standing on the front porch, squinting irresolutely into the gloom, Roy had almost made up his mind to dash across to check the barn when he heard a faint noise from above him. Frozen with one foot on the steps, he cocked his head and listened. Had that been…a _sigh_?

Cautiously, Roy stepped away from the porch and looked up, craning his neck but seeing nothing. So where …? Ah, of course. The attic. There were several pitched windows there that opened onto the roof. For someone who climbed trees as frequently as she did, it’d be a simple matter for Riza to clamber out and settle herself against the slanted roof to…to do what, exactly? Besides be alone, apparently? Roy fought a brief battle with himself before darting up the stairs and towards the semi-hidden entrance to the attic. He’d just make sure she was all right up there, that’s all, and then he’d leave her be if that’s what she wanted.

Sure enough, he found Riza lying on her back and gazing at the golden-yellow full moon, which was just beginning to rise above the foothills in the east. Glad of his long-sleeved shirt, Roy pushed the window open and leaned out into the cold air.

“Hey, there. Whatcha doin’?” he said.

Riza smiled without looking at him, her teeth a brief flash of white in the semi-darkness.

“Stargazing,” she said simply. “Want to join me?” Roy noticed then that she was bundled in an old quilt, a worn and faded one that she evidently didn’t mind getting dirty on the roof. He almost asked her whether she was sure it was all right, but reflected that she wouldn’t have asked if she’d be bothered by his presence. He shrugged, remembering a moment too late that she probably couldn’t see him very well in the low light.

“Yeah, all right,” he answered belatedly. Shimmying inelegantly out of the window, Roy carefully picked his way across the roof to sit beside her. She shocked him nearly senseless when she unfurled her quilt cocoon and shifted over in clear invitation. Recovering quickly, he pulled the loosened edge around himself and nestled gratefully into the warm fabric.

Shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, the two teens looked up at the starry sky above them.

“Wow,” Roy murmured. “Even with the full moon, the stars are so _bright_.” He was always a little amazed at how many more stars there seemed to be out here, without the big city light pollution hindering visibility as it did back home.

“Mm-hm. The almanac said there’s supposed to be a meteor shower all this week,” Riza said softly from his right side. “But I don’t know if we’ll be able to see much with the moon.”

“And it’s the first night it’s been clear enough to see, too,” Roy said. “Too bad. If it’s just rising now, it won’t set until after dawn.”

“I know. But it’s all right,” she replied. “It’s still a really nice view, from up here.”

“Have you been sitting out here long?” Roy asked.

“No, only since sunset,” she replied. “I was out in the barn earlier, finishing, er…some reading.”

“Oh?” Roy said drowsily. She must have assumed he didn’t believe her, because she hastened to explain herself.

“There’s this spot by the east window, where the sun hits just right this time of year. So even when it’s cold out, that sunny spot is always nice and warm. It’s a good place to lie and read in the afternoon.” Roy felt her eyes on him, though she hadn’t turned her head.

“Mm, sounds nice,” he said, wondering why she sounded so nervous. “I missed you at dinner, though. I’ve been stuck in the study all day studying for tomorrow’s exam. I’ve got to do well so I’m allowed to come back,” he added with a little grimace.

“You must be excited to go home for the holiday,” Riza observed. Roy smiled.

“It’ll be good to see my aunt and the girls,” he said. “And Aunt Chris makes this amazing mulled cider for the Solstice…I’ll see if I can get her recipe for you. It’s especially nice to have on nights like this.” He shivered slightly, in spite of the warmth of the quilt, and shifted a little closer to Riza. They fell silent for several minutes, just watching wispy clouds drifting lazily across the moon. It was incredibly beautiful.

“You _are_ coming back, aren’t you?” Riza asked quietly. Roy, astonished, turned his head to look at her.

“Well, yeah. I intend to, anyway, as long as sensei doesn’t change his mind about me in the meantime. I’ve still got another four months of apprenticeship, you know, according to the contract he arranged with Aunt Chris.”

“I see,” she said, her expression carefully blank. Roy’s heart gave a painful little throb.

He hadn’t given much thought to the termination of his apprenticeship, not in months. Not since he’d started to really care. (And just when had _that_ happened, anyway?) But now, with the unspoken loneliness in Riza’s quiet question, Roy wondered what would happen to her when he _was_ gone for good. Once his apprenticeship ended, they could still be friends, couldn’t they? They could write to each other, and maybe she could come to visit him in Central, and he could come back here some time…right?

But even then… it wouldn’t be quite the same, would it?

Even imagining their inevitable parting was painful, and Roy shook his head slightly as if to clear it. _This_ time, at least, he would be coming back. He’d only be gone for two weeks. There was still so much he hadn’t learned from Hawkeye-sensei. He could spend months, if not _years_ , studying under the brilliant alchemist, and still have barely scratched the surface. If he was a diligent student, then Master-Hawkeye might let him arrange to stay on a bit longer, after his remaining time was up. Until the time for a more permanent separation came, it was better not to get all wound up about it.

Roy slipped a hand through the folds of the quilt until he found Riza’s hand, which he squeezed lightly.

“I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone,” he assured her.

“Somehow I doubt that,” she murmured, half to herself. And then, with slightly forced cheer: “When you get back, I want to hear all about the big city Winter Solstice festivities. Especially about the fireworks you mentioned before. So you’d better pay close attention, okay?”

“You’ve got it,” he said, with another light squeeze. “Now, tell me more about this meteor shower. Where are we supposed to be looking?”

* * *

 

**December 17**

Although they’d stayed out on the roof until after midnight watching falling stars, Roy did extremely well on his exam the following morning. So well, in fact, that Berthold gave him a rare smile and even told him to enjoy his visit home. Roy spent the rest of the day packing, hunting for lost socks and trying to tidy his bedroom so that Miss Riza wouldn’t feel compelled to give it a thorough cleaning while he was away. Which she’d probably do anyway, but perhaps he could save her some work.

But when he found himself eating supper alone again, Roy remembered that he’d never asked Riza whether anything was bothering her. Once again, he racked his brain for anything he might have said or done to irritate her, and once again he came up empty.

Hadn’t they had a good time last night, trying to keep a lookout for shooting stars while the moon rose higher and higher above them? At one point, they’d gone back indoors to defrost a bit and add several more layers of clothing, and yet she’d still thrown half of her quilt over him when they crawled back out on the roof. She’d had no objection to the arm around her shoulder, either, even though the extra layers of coats and mittens meant that sharing body heat wasn’t strictly necessary. _That_ certainly hadn’t felt like avoidance. And she’d smiled and joked with him when she’d brought in a pile of clean laundry, earlier this afternoon, even congratulating him when he told her his exam had gone well.

So why wasn’t she eating dinner with him anymore?

Although she wasn’t on the roof when he went searching this time, Riza did turn up an hour or so later, pink-cheeked from the cold, claiming to have been calling on one of the neighbors and deftly evading Roy’s cautious questions. It made him slightly uneasy, but he let the subject drop when she curled up on her usual chair and reminded him that it was almost time for their favorite radio program. After all, he was leaving in the morning, and he didn’t want to start a quarrel out of nothing or leave her on a sour note.

* * *

 

**December 18**

Early the following morning, Roy collected his bags and trotted downstairs, where he found Riza waiting with her market basket over her arm.

“I made you some sandwiches for the train,” she said shyly, gesturing to a small package in the basket. “Do you mind if I walk with you? I need a few things in town today anyway.”

“Of course I don’t mind! I’m always glad of your company,” he smiled in reply.

They arrived at the train station with several minutes to spare before Roy’s departure time, although they could already hear the mournful whistle of the approaching train in the distant fields. Riza, though a bit subdued, kept up her end of a constant stream of cheerful conversation until the train pulled into the station. If Roy hadn’t been looking directly at her, he would have missed the shadow of sadness that crossed her face. But it was gone the next instant, and then she was smiling and handing him the sandwiches she’d made.

“Thanks. And thank you for coming to see me off,” Roy said, accepting the small squashy package.

“Of course,” she replied, blushing faintly. Suddenly Roy didn’t want to leave. Even if he was only going for two weeks, he was really going to miss her while he was gone.

“I wish you were coming with me,” he sighed softly. His words were lost in the groaning and hissing of the steam engine as it rolled to a rumbling halt at the platform. But Riza must have understood the look on his face, because her eyes softened and she smiled a little sadly.

“Have a safe journey, Mr. Mustang. And say hello to your family for us,” she said, leaning in close to Roy in order to be heard over the noise.

In a bold move that surprised them both, Riza suddenly closed the gap between them, pressing her soft lips to Roy’s cheek. A second later, she whirled and darted away from the train station. Roy stood staring after her, shell shocked, until the whistle of the train brought him back to his senses. He scrambled on board and made his way to an empty seat near the back of the car, still clutching the small package of sandwiches that Riza had given him. He stared down at the package for several long minutes, one hand hovering over the cheek she’d kissed, before he shook himself and unwrapped it.

Tucked into the waxed paper folds was a small handwritten notecard.

“Happy Winter Solstice, Mr. Mustang,” it read in Riza’s perfect, precise script. “May the coming year bring you joy, peace and prosperity. In the spirit of the season, I’ve hidden a gift among your socks. I hope that it will be useful.”

Roy dropped the card on his lap and began rummaging in his bag at once, shoving aside shirts, trousers and pajamas until he found a carefully wrapped package tied with a wide red satin ribbon. Unraveling it with great keenness, he pushed aside folds of tissue paper to reveal a beautifully thick black scarf, hand-knitted from the softest, finest wool he’d ever handled. Stroking it softly, Roy wondered when she’d found the time to make it, given the sheer amount of time they spent together.

And then he remembered those two lonely dinners that had caused him such anxiety, and laughed aloud. Of course –she’d been rushing to finish it without his noticing! Sneaky little minx.

“Happy Solstice, Miss Riza,” he murmured, smiling at the wheat fields streaking past his window.

* * *

  **December 18– 21**

It _had_ been snowing in Central, just enough to coat all the buildings and lampposts and trees in a clean white blanket that glittered in the sunlight. When Roy exited the train station, strings of brightly colored paper lanterns were being strung up along the streets by a small army of volunteers, and vendors were setting up their stalls in preparation of the annual Winter Solstice Faire. The familiarity of the bustling holiday scene was oddly comforting, and Roy knew he was grinning like a fool but couldn’t bring himself to care. The low undercurrent of excitement throughout the city was palpable and contagious, and Roy let it sweep him up as he made his way towards the main road where his aunt had told him to meet her. Predictably, Chris’s car was already waiting at the curb, and Roy was nearly smothered by the two women inside (Violet and Elinor, this time. Roy suspected that they’d drawn straws.) They’d whisked him off to Chris’s bar at once, explaining on the ride that his welcome home party was already underway.

Years later, Roy was able to look back at that night and laugh. At the time, of course, it hadn’t been remotely amusing. (At least, not for him—the girls had been very entertained.)

All of his sisters greeted him enthusiastically with oddly intense expressions, but was Ada who’d first noticed his new scarf. When he admitted, flushing scarlet, that it had been a recent gift, he’d been afraid that the sheer volume of Ada’s high-pitched squeal had caused him permanent hearing damage. Drawn by the noise (and really, it was a wonder the whole town hadn’t been drawn by the noise), the girls who hadn’t already been standing at the door quickly descended on him and began pressing him for answers, ignoring his flushing and stammering protests. He felt like a lamb who’d just opened the door to a roomful of starving lions. Several pairs of perfectly manicured hands had guided him into a chair and pushed him none-too-gently into it, and the next thing he knew he was surrounded on all sides.

“All right, enough of this ‘subtle’ nonsense,” Sophie said briskly, her hands on her hips and her blue-green eyes hard and sharp. “I—or rather, _we_ —need some answers, little brother. _Detailed_ ones,” she amended.

“This,” Juliet added menacingly, brandishing a folded piece of paper that Roy recognized as his most recent letter home. “This is not acceptable.” Roy fidgeted and swallowed hard.

“We’ve come to the conclusion that you might have been less than forthcoming in your last letter,” Elinor interjected gently. “Perhaps you’d care to fill in some of the gaps, dearest?”

“I don’t know what you mean—” Roy protested feebly.

“Oh come, now,” Violet scoffed. Even Lucy and Ada rolled their eyes, which was when Roy really knew he was in trouble.

“The Festival,” Veronica said slowly. “We want to know what happened at the Festival that you aren’t telling us. What are you trying to hide?”

“I—there—nothing happened!  I already told you, w-we just…” Roy stammered, looking around as if to find an escape. But it was no use. All seven of his foster sisters were looking at him expectantly. Even Chris had perched on a stool just outside of their little circle, watching her unfortunate nephew with clear amusement on her face.

“Yes? You just what?” Lucy asked breathlessly, her blue eyes wide and guileless. She had an innate talent for getting people to let their guard down, and Roy was no exception. Her wide-eyed innocence made Roy soften just a little bit.

“Well, I told you all about that in my letter, didn’t I? You know, there were some games, and the play, and then music and dancing,” he said. “After that, we went to the bonfire—”

 “We?” Three voiced asked simultaneously. Roy cringed. Best to play innocent, he decided. They couldn’t possibly know he’d left that little detail out deliberately.

“Um, yes. Didn’t I say? I was with Ri—er, Miss Hawkeye that night.” Crap! And he’d been so careful not to use just her first name, in his letters. If they knew about _that_ ; the teasing would never end!

“Oh?” Violet said, leaning closer and resting her chin in her hand. “So you and Miss Hawkeye went to the festival together, then?”

“W-well, yeah. Just as friends!” Roy added quickly. Not quickly enough. Sophie and Veronica exchanged a smirk.

“Oh, I bet Miss Hawkeye is a wonderful dancer,” Lucy sighed, her eyes sparkling.

“Actually, she didn’t know how to dance at all, at first,” Roy replied, smiling. This felt like a safe topic. “But she’s a fast learner. She picked it up pretty quickly, once I showed her…the basics…” he trailed off in horror, realizing his slip.

“You taught her to dance? Oh, Roy, that’s so sweet!” Ada squealed. Violet nudged her with an elbow, as if to remind her that such statements might frighten him into silence, even as he clamped his jaw shut, determined not to answer any more of their questions.

But Veronica had been right, before. Roy _had_ forgotten who he was dealing with. It was easy enough to withhold information in written communications, but suppressing involuntary physical cues like blushing, blinking and pupil dilation was far more difficult, and he’d gotten out of practice in the past several months. In the end he cracked like an egg, spilling nearly every detail. In less than half an hour, his sisters knew everything: from a detailed description of the prize he’d won for Riza to the decidedly intimate moment they’d shared sitting by the bonfire after the dance.

Madame, laughing, finally drew him to her side and told him he’d definitely need to work on resisting interrogation, in case it ever came up in the future.

“However, ladies, there is one thing he’s still keeping from us,” she added, with a final squeeze of her defeated nephew.

“What? What is it?” they cried out, indignant. Madame smiled benignly, dark eyes glittering.

“The kiss,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? H-how’d you even know about that?!” Roy cried out, jumping to his feet. His aunt threw her head back and laughed aloud.

“I didn’t. Not until just then, when you told me,” Chris explained. Roy’s face fell, if possible, even further. “Never mind, darling, never mind,” she soothed, patting his shoulder somewhat absently. “You can tell us all about it later. But as for now, isn’t this meant to be a party? Ada, darling, go on and let the other guests in, won’t you? Everyone should be here by now.”

“Oh, right! Yes, of course,” several voices spoke at once, and the girls scattered, scurrying to and fro for the platters of food and trays of drinks while Ada hastened to open the door for Roy’s friends.

“Besides,” he heard her say to Lucy. “We have nearly two weeks to get all the finer points out of him, right?”

Roy blanched. This was going to be a long vacation. 

* * *

 

**December 21**

_Starbursts bloomed in Riza’s dark eyes, reflected light from the sparkler she held in one hand. With her lips slightly parted and unguarded delight written all over her face, Roy thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her eyes flicked to his quickly and then back to the sizzling firework._

_Roy just grinned and lit another one right before hers fizzled out, trading her for the spent one._

_“They’re called sparklers,” he explained. “So what do you think? Do you like them?”_

_“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “They’re beautiful, Mr. Mustang!” Mesmerized, she watched until the second one was nearly burnt out as well. As the light flickered and died out, Riza turned towards him with an unidentifiable look in her eyes. They noticed how close together they’d been standing at the same moment. And then Riza was leaning in close, and then closer still, with her face slightly upturned…and then—_

 

“Roy. Earth to Roy!” Juliet was saying, waving a hand in front of his face. Roy blinked and tore his eyes away from the display of fireworks he’d been staring at.

“Ah, sorry Jules, I got a bit distracted,” he replied a bit sheepishly.

“I could tell,” she said with a mischievous little smile. “Did you see something you wanted, then?”

Thank God she couldn’t read his mind, Roy thought, biting his tongue.

“Sparklers,” he said firmly, praying that his ears weren’t turning red and giving him away. “I wanted to get some sparklers.”

“Oh? Souvenirs for your new friends?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow. Roy shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

“The other kids haven’t seen any fireworks before. I thought it might be fun to take some of the little ones back to show them,” he explained. If the look Juliet was giving him was any indication, she wasn’t fooled by the mention of ‘other kids’ in the slightest.

“Oh, I see,” was all she said. “The classic sparklers are nice, but I’ve always liked Morning Glories the best,” she added, pointing at a display of slender cardboard tubes wrapped in brightly colored striped paper. “Those actually change colors while they’re burning.”

“No kidding? Awesome!” Roy said, reaching for a box. “I wonder how much the flash bombs are, those are pretty cool too…” Juliet just smiled and shook her head.

With his wallet considerably lighter, Roy helped Juliet finish the rest of the shopping while lugging a bulging bag of his own. He couldn’t wait to surprise Riza with the fireworks.

* * *

 

**December 21 – December 31**

The remainder of Roy’s winter vacation flew by. After the Winter Solstice Faire, which he’d gone to with several of his friends, he and Chris had had another little dinner party just for Chris’s girls, many of whom didn’t have any close family. Veronica’s father and Elinor’s younger sister joined the family gathering as well, and Ada even brought her young son along. Veronica’s father regaled them with amusing stories of the criminals he’d helped put away, including a fantastic tale involving twin heiresses, a venomous snake, and a saucer of milk.

After his initial interrogation, Roy’s ‘sisters’ had mostly let the subject of Roy’s love life alone, although there was an increase in the number of knowing smiles and raised eyebrows that he received whenever he wore his new scarf. But fortunately for Roy, Sophie had recently started seeing a young man, and so the girls were sufficiently distracted by her burgeoning romance once they’d gotten the details of the Harvest Festival out of him.

It wasn’t until his last day that his aunt pulled him aside for a serious discussion.

“I’ve started hearing little things, lately, that have made me uneasy,” she began, twisting a ring on her thumb as she paced the length of the room. A sure sign of distress, although her voice and expression remained calm.

“What kinds of things?” Roy asked, frowning.

“Political things, mostly,” she sighed. “Propaganda and rhetoric. But I’ve also heard rumors about growing unrest and instability in the Eastern provinces.”

“Okay,” Roy said slowly, unsure of what she was trying to tell him. She was silent for another moment, looking out of her window. Finally she turned back to face him.

“I realize your teacher’s home isn’t anywhere near the areas I’ve been hearing about,” she said. “But you’ll still be closer to the borders than I’m comfortable with. I want you to promise me that you’ll be careful. Keep your eyes and ears open, and you let me know about anything out of the ordinary. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roy said solemnly.

“Good boy,” she replied, relaxing a fraction. She studied his face for a moment before smiling softly. “I know I don’t have to tell you to look after your young lady.” Roy flushed and looked away.

“She’s not my—it’s not like that,” he mumbled. Chris chuckled softly.

“Your young lady _friend_ , then. I’d like to meet her, one day. You make sure she knows she’s welcome in my home any time, young man.”

“A-all right,” Roy said, a little perturbed.

“Now off to bed with you. Your train leaves first thing tomorrow; I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Good night, auntie,” Roy said, rising and allowing his aunt to pull him into a one-armed hug.

“Good night, brat,” she answered affectionately.


	11. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are sparklers, syncope, and extremely worried teenagers. Later, Roy has a brief encounter that has a greater effect on him than he realizes.

**January 2**

Returning to the Hawkeyes’ felt like coming home.

Roy was pleasantly surprised to find Riza waiting for him at the train station when he arrived. They hadn’t really discussed his travel plans before he’d gone, but he’d assumed she wouldn’t trouble about meeting him. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know the way, this time.

“Miss me?” he greeted her with a wide smile. Her lips quirked in amusement.

“Oh, have you been away? No wonder it’s been so quiet,” she teased. Gesturing to the basket on her arm, she added: “I had some errands in town and thought we might as well go back together.”

Upon closer inspection, Riza seemed a little pale and drawn, but she’d simply shaken her head and insisted everything was fine when Roy had tried to ask whether anything was bothering her. It didn't take a genius to see that she was lying.

Hawkeye-sensei was conspicuously absent upon their return to the house, and Roy noticed that the laboratory door was closed when he followed Riza into the kitchen. How long had he been locked in there this time? Long enough for his daughter to be in a state of low-level panic, apparently. Before Roy had thought of a tactful way to ask, though, Riza glanced back over her shoulder and told him dinner would be ready shortly.

Their meal was a pleasant one in spite of Riza’s palpable anxiety. To welcome him back, she had prepared Roy’s favorite meal, complete with chocolate cake for dessert. As they ate, Roy shared as many amusing stories from his visit home as he could, determined to do something about the strained look on her pretty face. And by the time dinner was over, Riza _was_ finally smiling a little, although her eyes still held an intense melancholy. She lapsed back into a thoughtful silence as they cleared the table and washed up.

Time to pull out the big guns, then, Roy thought as he dried the last plate. 

“I was going to wait until it was warmer out to give you your present, but since we’ve just been talking about the holidays...” he began, trailing off deliberately. That got her attention.

“My present?” she repeated, with an inquisitive expression.

“Yup!” he replied, beaming at her. “You’ll have to come outside to get it, though.”

“What is it?” she wondered aloud, even as Roy steered her out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

“I can’t tell you that; it’s meant to be a surprise!” he chided lightly. “Go get your coat and meet me out back, behind the garden, okay?”  

Riza complied at once, darting up the stairs towards her bedroom. Roy waited until she was out of sight and then lunged for the hall closet. After hastily pulling on his own coat, he retrieved the small satchel he’d stashed in the corner of the closet when he’d arrived earlier. Wrapping his new scarf snugly around his neck, with a book of matches safely tucked in his pocket, Roy slipped outside.

 Rifling through the satchel and glancing over his shoulder at regular intervals, he worked as quickly as he could. He arranged each of the fireworks he’d brought on the hard-packed earth behind Riza’s kitchen gardens, taking care to keep them well away from the dry brush of the surrounding fallow fields. After all, accidently starting the fire that ended up burning a girl’s house down would make for a terrible present.

At last, he heard the back door creak on its aging hinges, followed by Riza’s soft footsteps padding along the path. Blocking her view as best he could, Roy took a few steps toward her and held out his hands in wordless expectation. She hesitated for just a moment before tentatively placing her hands in his.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded. Riza just shot him a suspicious glare. “Just for a minute. Please?” he pleaded, squeezing their joined hands lightly.

“Oh, all right,” she relented, hiding her smile. Roy released one of her hands and carefully wrapped the chilled fingers of the other around one of the sparklers, watching her face closely to be sure she wasn’t peeking. Running a puzzled thumb along the slender metallic stick in her hand, Riza furrowed her brow and fidgeted a little. “Can I look yet?” she asked.

“Just one more second...” Roy said, lighting a match. As he held it close to the tip of the sparkler, he grinned in anticipation. “Okay, now!” The firework sputtered to life just as Riza’s eyes flew open.

“Oh!” she gasped. Roy watched her expression shift from surprise to comprehension to complete enchantment.

The silvery light of the sparkler made Riza’s soft dark eyes glitter, just as he’d imagined. And her face did indeed glow with a ghostly beauty in the dim light. The openness and honesty of her delighted expression only enhanced the effect. He’d never read happiness quite so clearly on her features as he did at that moment, and it made something deep within him thrill in response.

“They’re called sparklers,” he said in a slightly husky voice. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “I can’t believe–this is amazing!” Roy grinned unabashedly as he lit two more sparklers from the one in her hand just before it went out. Trading her for the spent one, he waved his own in the air in front of them.

“When we were little, we used to use them to write in the air,” he confessed with a nostalgic little chuckle. “With the afterimage, you know? Like this, watch.” Feeling like a little kid again, Roy used the sparkling wand in his hand to spell out his name with the trailing light. Riza giggled and imitated him, writing her own name in swirling cursive.

“I think this is the nicest present I’ve ever received,” she said, positively radiant with happiness. “Thank you, Mr. Mustang.”

“You’re welcome. Besides, it’s the least I could do, after you made me such a great gift,” he added, tugging at his scarf with his free hand. Even in the low light, he saw Riza flush up with pleasure.

“I’m glad you like it,” she replied a little shyly.

“I love it,” he corrected her. “And how could I not, when _you_ made it?” Before she had time to feel embarrassed by the compliment, Roy handed her a third firework. “Here. This one’s called a Morning Glory. It’s supposed to change colors as it burns,” he explained.

“Really?” she asked, eyeing it somewhat skeptically. Roy chuckled.

“So the vender said, anyway. If it’s a dud, we can try out the Poppers next.”

“The what? Oh, look!” she cried, distracted by the sparks that had changed from silver to a bright red-orange.

“Not a dud, then, good,” Roy grinned, suddenly absurdly pleased. Riza smiled back at him over the warm orange light between them, which was already lightening to a cheerful golden yellow.

“I wonder how they get it to do that,” she wondered aloud, glancing back down. Before Roy could explain about the chemical compounds used in the process, Riza’s eyes flicked back up to his face. “I’m sorry; I interrupted you just now. What were you saying? About the ones you wanted to show me next?”

“Oh, right. Poppers,” Roy said. “They’re full of flash powder, so each one makes a loud popping sound as it goes off. Hence the name.”

“Fitting,” Riza agreed, still twirling her Morning Glory, which had just turned a bright green. “But wait a minute…just how many fireworks did you _bring_?”

“You’ll see,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “Wait til the sparks on that turn blue; we can use the end to light the string of Poppers.”

“Okay. Oh, there it goes!” she said, as the sparks faded to a deep indigo blue.

“You want to do it?” Roy asked. She nodded eagerly. He led her across to one the fireworks he’d prepared before and pointed out the fuse. “As soon as it catches, we’ll want to back up a few feet,” he added prudently.

The short black fuse caught and sputtered as the Morning Glory finally faded, and Roy gently pulled Riza several feet away to a safer distance. Riza watched in fascination as the fuse burned closer to the linked chain of brightly colored cylinders. When the first one burst apart loudly, she jumped, unprepared for the noise in spite of Roy’s warning. At the next pop, she reflexively caught and held Roy’s arm. He didn’t mind, although he staggered a bit when she jumped again without letting him go. By the time the last of them had gone off, they were clinging to each other and giggling like children.

“This is such fun!” Riza cried. “I wish we had something like these for our Festival.”

“I just wish I could have brought you something more than the little novelties,” Roy replied. “The big aerial displays are the real beauties, but they don’t let anyone buy those unless they’re licensed. Although people still smuggle them in illegally from Xing, sometimes.”

“And how do you know that?” Riza asked, with more amusement than disapproval in her tone.

“Well, remember when I mentioned my friends from school? Fred and George? I forgot to mention that George currently lacks eyebrows,” he said impishly. “Due to an unfortunate miscalculation on Fred’s part involving some fireworks of questionable legality. Made it kinda hard to deny their involvement when the MPs showed up, lemme tell you,” he added with a laugh. “And it didn’t help that one of the rockets was still spewing pink and purple sparks all over their back porch, either!”

Riza’s laughter was almost musical, and Roy was relieved to see that the tension in her slender frame had all but vanished.  One by one, he showed her all of the other items he’d brought for her: Jumping Jacks, which spun on the ground as red and green sparks shot out along the edges, an Ash Snake, which was a hard pellet that produced a long carbon ‘snake’ as it burned, and a cone fountain, which sprayed bright golden sparks several feet into the air. Each delighted her more than the last, although when pressed, she confessed that the simple sparklers were her favorites.

“Good thing you have a whole box, then,” Roy said, handing it over with a flourish.

“I can’t believe you did all this for me,” she said softly, taking it with both hands. “Thank you so much for this, Mr. Mustang.” Roy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You’re welcome. I’m-I’m really glad you liked them,” he managed. “You should, ah, save the rest of those for next year. Take them with you to the Harvest Festival, maybe, show the others. Who knows, maybe you can start a new tradition!” Riza’s face glowed.

“I’d like that,” she murmured, falling silent. And then, with a dubious glance around them: “We should probably clean this up.”

“It can wait til morning,” Roy said. “It’s too dark to see properly anyway; we’re bound to miss some if we try to do it now. We may as well save it for tomorrow and get it all done in one go.”

“You make a very persuasive argument,” Riza said mock-seriously. “Tomorrow it is.” They walked back inside together, Riza still clutching the nearly full box of sparklers to her chest.

It was later than either of them had realized, so they locked up and extinguished lights as they moved through the house. Riza paused for a long moment at the laboratory door before shaking herself slightly. As they walked upstairs, Riza turned to Roy with a solemn expression.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she admitted.

“Even though you didn’t notice I was gone?” Roy teased gently.

“I noticed,” she murmured. Roy, knowing what she wanted to say, smiled to himself.

“And I missed you, too,” he returned. “Good night, Riza.”

 “Good night,” she replied, smiling.

* * *

 

**January 3 , 3:54 am**

He was wakened some hours later by small hand shaking his shoulder. 

“Mr. Mustang...Roy Mustang, wake up!” 

Groggily, he opened his eyes to find Riza’s pale face inches from his own. In her haste to wake him, she hadn’t thought to turn on his lamp, but he could see the fear in her eyes clearly enough without its aid.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled, struggling to sit upright. She leaned back slightly to give him more space but retained her perch on the edge of his bed. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Papa,” she said in a trembling voice. “I heard a loud noise—a crash and then a heavy thud—from the lab. And now it’s completely quiet inside, and he didn’t answer when I called, and I can’t open the door, and I think he might be hurt,” she finished in a rush.

The lingering cobwebs in his head cleared in an instant. Roy kicked his covers back and swung his feet to the floor, forgetting that he’d gone to sleep in only a ratty pair of cotton pajama pants. Considering the circumstances, though, neither he nor Riza noticed or cared. 

“How long had he been in there, this time?” he asked urgently. Riza shivered, her face starting to crumple.

“Fo-four days,” she half-sobbed. Roy swore softly.

“He hasn’t come out at all; you’re sure?” he pressed.

“I’ve been keeping watch. Every time I tried to speak to him through the door he yelled at me to leave; that I was disrupting his research. I don’t think he’s slept or eaten anything,” she added tremulously.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Roy cast about for his clothes. Without a trace of self-consciousness, he shucked his pajama pants before pulling on jeans and a shirt. He hesitated a moment, and then shoved his feet into boots. He had a feeling this would end with a trip to fetch Doctor James. The moment his boots were on, Riza rose and led the way.

He clattered down the steps on Riza’s heels, and halted before the laboratory, as she did. Frowning, he rattled the knob of the locked door, confirming that it was in fact still bolted from the inside.

“Sensei?” he called, pounding a fist on the door. “Sensei, can you hear me? Are you all right?” He paused to listen, but heard nothing but the sound of his own heart thundering as he pressed his ear to the door. “Sir? If you don’t answer us, we’re coming in!” he added, in slightly louder voice. Still nothing. Riza turned to him with a panicked face.

“But how can we? There’s no other key besides his, and he has that,” she said shakily. Roy slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, but we know that the door is made of oak and reinforced steel, right? And the bolt is right about here?” he added, tapping a finger on the surface. Riza calmed somewhat as she realized what he was saying.

“Oh, of course, how stupid I am,” she whispered. “Please, hurry.” Roy was already fumbling in his pockets for chalk.

With intense concentration, he made a small circle just above the door handle, scribbling out the symbols with a sure and steady hand in spite of his own anxiety. What if they were too late…? No, no time to worry about that, he thought, finishing his array. Focus.

“Ready?” he asked, more to himself than to Riza. She nodded anyway, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she took a few steps back. Roy took a deep breath, placed his hands on the door, and activated the circle. The wooden surface of the door buckled and bubbled and then peeled away, folding in on itself to open up a perfectly round hole, which would be just large enough for Roy to reach an arm through. As the crackling light from the reaction faded, he did just that, deftly unlocking the tumbler lock and the deadbolt from the inside.

Prepared for the worst, Roy threw open the door and darted down the short flight of stairs. Hawkeye-sensei was lying on his side, sprawled next to the lab table in the center of the room. Innumerable flasks, flagons, beakers and test tubes were jumbled together on the table; he’d clearly been in the middle of some kind of chemical test. His chair also lay on its side nearby, and there were shards of broken glass just beside it, which accounted for the noise Riza had heard. He must have knocked over the chair when he’d fallen, dropping a beaker to the floor in the process.

“Papa!” Riza cried, squeezing past Roy and dropping to her knees beside her father, heedless of the shards of glass strewn across the ground.

“Careful, Riza, the glass,” Roy cried, crouching beside her as she reached for Berthold’s shoulder. “You’ll cut yours—oh, my god.”

Berthold looked terrible. Until he saw the slight movement of his ribs, indicating that the man was still breathing, Roy thought for a heart-stopping moment that his teacher was dead. His face was gray and waxy, and his cheeks looked even more sunken than usual. Carefully rolling him onto his back, the two teens saw the bright crimson pool of blood that was still sluggishly running from a cut on his temple. His skin was ice cold under their searching hands.

“He must have hit his head when he fell,” Roy said, half to himself. “We should try and stop the bleeding. And get him a blanket; it’s freezing!” Riza was already scrambling to her feet when Roy reached out a hand to stop her. “No, wait, you haven’t got any shoes on. I’ll be right back.”

“There’s a quilt in the living room. On the couch,” Riza called to his departing back.

He returned moments later with a clean dishcloth, a glass of water, and the quilt from the couch. In his absence, Riza had used her dressing gown to sweep the majority of the glass away from her father so that she could shift closer to him. She was holding one of his hands in both of her own, gently chafing it in an attempt to warm it with friction. Roy quickly tucked the blanket over Berthold’s still form and dabbed gently at his temple with a dampened edge of the dishcloth.

“I think it looks worse than it is,” he said softly, peering at it closely. “Head wounds always bleed quite a bit. He’s probably dehydrated from not eating or drinking anything in the past couple days. I thought we should try to get him to drink this if he wakes up, but…” he trailed off as his teacher moaned and stirred slightly. “Sensei? Can you hear me?” He tapped his teacher’s face lightly with the back of his hand.

“Papa?” Riza gasped as the man’s eyelids fluttered. His limbs twitched as though he was trying to get up, and then went limp again as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Riza looked at Roy, her eyes pleading.

“Yeah, I think we should get the doc out here, too,” he sighed. “Will you be all right on your own?”

“Yes,” she replied in a small voice. Roy nodded grimly and rose, leaving the glass of water sitting on the ground beside her. He darted up the stairs and returned a minute later with his heaviest winter coat, which he draped over Riza’s shivering frame.

“Hang in there. I’ll be back as soon as I can, all right?” She placed her hand over his where it lingered on her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his jacket as he went, Roy set off down the road at a brisk trot. It was still dark, eerily quiet and calm, and cold enough that he could see his breath. By the time he wished he’d thought to bring a light, he was already too far along the road to turn back. For all he knew, a moment’s delay could mean the difference between Hawkeye-sensei’s recovery and…not. He picked up his pace.

Having run most of the way, Roy was panting heavily as he pounded desperately at the door of the James home. He hadn’t remembered his watch, so he had no idea of the time, except that it was still some ungodly hour before dawn. Fortunately the doctor was accustomed to being knocked up at all hours for medical assistance. He opened the door within minutes, already partially dressed and only slightly disheveled.

“Mr. Mustang?” Dr. James asked with some surprise. “What’s happened, my boy?”

“Please, sir, you have to come. Hawkeye-sensei, he’s collapsed in the lab. He’s still unconscious and he’s freezing cold and we don’t think he’s eaten anything for days, and I left Miss Riza all alone with him,” Roy babbled. Meanwhile, the doctor was rapidly doing up the buttons on his half-open shirt and reaching for his medical bag.

“This way, young man. I’ve got the car parked behind the house,” he said, guiding Roy with a firm hand on his shoulder. As he drove, Dr. James questioned Roy carefully about what he and Riza had seen. With each answer, his frown deepened. When they pulled up to the house, he was out of the car even faster than Roy.

When they entered the lab, they found Riza bent low over her father’s supine form, still chafing one of his hands in hers. She looked up at them, eyes bright.

“He’s woken up a bit more,” she said. “He was trying to say something a moment ago.” Even as she spoke, her father let out a low moan and turned his head towards them.

With his brisk, no-nonsense manner, Dr. James knelt beside his patient and began checking his pulse, gently prodding at his bleeding temple, shining a penlight into his eyes, and frowning at the gray pallor of his skin.

“Mild hypothermia,” he muttered, sounding irritated. “Poor skin turgor, so dehydrated as well, minor laceration on the temple, should heal up on its own without stitches, but we can bandage that later…Hmm…nice little goose-egg forming, but I think we can rule out the concussion, at least. You say he hasn’t eaten?” This last he addressed to Riza, who shook her head.

“I’ve been leaving food out, but he hasn’t touched it. I don’t think he had anything in here with him.” Dr. James raised a questioning brow. “He locks himself in, sometimes, when he’s working,” she explained. “It’d been four days, this time.” Her voice quavered slightly at the final words, the only obvious sign of her distress.

Dr. James frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a soft noise from Berthold, who finally seemed to be coming back to himself and was glaring round at them all as though they had somehow caused this.

It took the combined efforts of Roy and Dr. James to help Berthold upright into a sitting position, as weak as he was. Rearranging the quilt over his shoulders, Dr. James quickly confirmed their assumption that he hadn’t been eating for the past several days. Berthold seemed genuinely surprised when they told him four days had passed since he’d locked himself in the lab.

Riza was directed to fetch a glass of lukewarm water with several heaping spoons of sugar stirred in. Berthold glowered but drank the concoction without complaint, avoiding his daughter’s eyes. Dr. James attended to the head wound with brisk, efficient movements while giving Riza careful instructions about Berthold’s meals for the next few days.

“I know it’s tempting to go overboard with big, hearty meals to try and feed him up a bit,” he was saying. “But that would ultimately cause more problems than it would solve. We don’t want to shock his system.”

Not for the first time, Dr. James marveled at Miss Riza’s self-possession and maturity. Under similar circumstances, most of the teenage girls he knew would have been crying and carrying on (not without good reason, of course, though privately he detested the unnecessary dramatics). But Miss Riza stayed calm, looked him in the eye, and asked him questions with a steady voice.

After another glass of water and a bit of toast, Berthold felt strong enough to stand. Dr. James helped him up to his bedroom. Roy and Riza followed automatically. As they entered the suite of rooms that was Berthold’s own domain, Roy realized he’d never actually seen this part of the house before. The main door opened into a sort of dressing room which reminded Roy of the parlor downstairs. Beyond it was the master bedroom and what he assumed was the bathroom. Pausing in the dressing room area, Doctor James gently asked Roy and Riza to wait outside so he could speak to his patient in private.

Roy and Riza huddled together on a chaise lounge, waiting. Riza was still wearing Roy’s coat over her thin nightclothes, and Roy’s right arm was wrapped securely around her waist. Although he had to lean a little awkwardly to manage it, his left hand was entwined with hers and resting on his knee. The doctor’s low, soothing murmur was difficult to hear, but they caught a few snatches of the conversation through the connecting door whenever he raised his voice.

“...at a critical stage, but _you_ must understand....cannot go on like this....they were both _terrified_....and supposing he _hadn’t_ thought to...without so much as a spare key...starvation is no joke, Berthold…might’ve died, you fool!”

The sun was finally beginning to rise by the time the doctor had finished lecturing Master Hawkeye. Closing the bedroom door behind him with a weary sigh, his lips quirked upwards slightly when he saw their expectant faces, putting them both at ease.

“He’ll be all right after plenty of rest and fluids. We’ve already discussed his dietary needs over the next several days,” he said, nodding to Riza. “But after that, he may resume his usual routine. Well, except for the part where he loses himself in his research and forgets to eat until his body gives out on him, of course,” he amended. “But there’s very little we can do about that.” Roy thought he heard the words ‘damn stubborn fool’ muttered under the doctor’s breath…but he couldn’t be sure.

“Is there anything else I should do, doctor?” Riza asked quietly. Dr. James’s expression softened as he turned to her.

“No, my child. You’ve done everything you can for the time being. You should both get some rest. I’ll be back in a day or two to check up on him, but you know where to find me if you need anything,” he fumbled in his pockets as they walked him downstairs. “Ah, here it is. Hang on to this, my dear.”

He handed Riza a small silver key. She stared down at it for a moment and then closed her fingers very slowly around it, tightening her grip until her knuckles turned white.

“Is that—?” Roy asked, looking at the doctor.

“The key to his lab, yes,” the older man replied. “I suggested to him that it would be more prudent to have a spare copy in case of future emergencies such as this one,” he shook his head, the furrow in his brow deepening . “He’s extremely fortunate that—well, never mind that now,” he sighed.

“I’ll have a copy made tomorrow,” Riza said softly.

“Good girl,” Dr. James replied, smiling down at her. “You’ve always been a sensible girl. And both of you have done very well, keeping your heads and remaining calm through all this excitement tonight. I’m very impressed with how you’ve handled yourselves.”

“Thank you, sir. We appreciate all your help,” Roy murmured politely. Beside him, Riza had stiffened and turned pale.

“Thank you, Dr. James,” she said demurely.

With a small, approving nod at her remarkable equanimity, Dr. James bid them a good morning and let himself out. What he didn’t see was the way Riza’s face crumpled as soon as the door shut behind him, or the way that Roy wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, murmuring quiet words of reassurance and comfort as she swallowed back her tears and shivered against him.

And Roy was very well aware that he was one of a very privileged few who would ever see this vulnerable side of her.

“It’s all _my_ fault,” she whispered into his chest. He shushed her and ran a hand down her back.

“We both know that’s not true,” Roy sighed.

“I should’ve tried harder.”

“Hawkeye-sensei is a grown man who knows better, Riza. This is not your fault; it’s his.”

“I’m supposed to look after him,” she protested, still trembling slightly.

“Shh, stop. It’s not your fault,” Roy managed through the lump in his throat. _Oh Riza, he thought. You have it all wrong. **He’s** supposed to look after **you**._

* * *

 

**January 5**

Hawkeye-sensei was unexpectedly docile over the next several days. He stayed in bed per doctor’s orders, submitted to his daughter’s mild fussing without comment or complaint, and ate each and every meal under her watchful eyes.  

He also summoned Roy to his bedroom two mornings after what Roy had begun to think of as ‘the incident.’ Berthold was propped up on several pillows when Roy arrived, and he sat there looking as frail and fragile as a man who’d recently been through a long and difficult illness. All except for his eyes—those held the same fire as always.

After the initial awkward conversion, in which he apologized for the trouble he’d caused and gravely thanked Roy for his quick thinking and level-headedness, Berthold studied his student’s face so intently and for so long that Roy grew nervous and squirmy under the scrutiny. In the end, Berthold simply waved him away with vague instructions to continue his reading in biochemistry until they were able to meet again for a proper lesson.

Roy nearly ran from the room when he was finally dismissed, and found Riza waiting for him in the hallway.

“Are you all right?” she asked him, frowning. For just a moment, as she studied his face with an intensely serious expression, Riza looked exactly like her father.

“Fine, I think,” Roy chuckled nervously, still vaguely unsettled. “That was just…one of the odder conversations I’ve had with Hawkeye-sensei.”

“What do you mean?” Noting the flicker of fear in her eyes, Roy shook himself and hastened to reassure her.

“No, it’s nothing bad,” he said quickly. “I just got the impression that he was…assessing me, somehow. Judging me. He-he’s never looked at me like that before. It was just…odd,” he mumbled, shrugging.

He couldn’t quite find the right words to describe the feeling of foreboding that had curled up deep in his belly when he’d looked into his teacher’s eyes. And he didn’t dare to _try_ and explain it for fear of making Riza worry about her father any more than she already was.

Something flickered across Riza’s features so quickly that Roy wasn’t certain that he’d interpreted it correctly. But it looked like comprehension.

“Did he…say anything to you?” she asked tentatively after a moment.

“You mean about what happened the other night?” Roy asked, confused. Riza hesitated, frowned a little, and then nodded. Roy felt like he’d missed something. “Um, a bit. Thanked me for running to fetch the doctor, complimented me on the thing with the door. Wanted to make sure I’d put it all back right,” he added with a smile. “You?” Riza’s frown deepened.

“He did apologize for shouting at me, when I’d tried to check on him,” she said softly. “But then he lectured me on the paramount importance of his work, and reminded me that I must never disturb him while he’s in the middle of his _research_.” Abruptly, she lowered her head and started to turn away. Roy reached out and caught her hand lightly in his to prevent her escape.

“He told me he was sorry that he’d frightened us,” he said softly, silently willing her to turn back towards him so that he could see her face. _Please don’t be crying,_ he thought. After a tense moment where neither moved (and Roy scarcely dared to breathe), Riza sighed softly, her shoulders slumping in weary resignation.

“I think he’s sorrier that he collapsed in the middle of an important experiment,” she murmured. “If he’d had the chance to finish it before passing out, then he probably wouldn’t have minded.” Her voice caught on the last word, and Roy bit his lip, hard. That was a truer statement than he wanted to admit.

“What happened with the lab key?” he asked gently. Riza finally turned to face him again, fumbling with a thin silver chain around her neck as she did so. A familiar key dangled from the end that had been tucked beneath the neckline of her dress.

“I was planning to have it copied tomorrow,” she explained. “I meant to go sooner, but I…didn’t want to leave him just yet.”

“Let me go for you,” Roy said impulsively. Riza’s face lit up. “You stay here and keep an eye on him,” he added. “Was there anything else I can get while I’m in town? Milk, bread, anything?”

“Oh, would you?” she gasped, eyes shining. “Thank you, I—yes, I think we do need bread. Um…and maybe some coffee as well; we’re nearly out. You know where Mr. Yale’s shop is?” she asked, referring to the town locksmith.

“Yeah, just behind the post office, right?” Riza nodded.

“Here,” she said, unfastening the clasp on her necklace. Roy started to hold out his hand, but Riza was quicker, leaning in close as she secured the necklace around his neck instead. He flushed pink as her fingertips brushed over the sensitive skin of his neck.

“T-thanks,” he managed to stammer when she stepped back again. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back soon.”

“All right. See you in a bit, then,” she replied, offering him a shy little smile.

In the end, Roy returned with _three_ small silver lab keys dangling from the chain around his neck. It had occurred to him that Berthold loathed nothing so much as being interrupted in the middle of his work, regardless of the reason. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find that his teacher had conveniently ‘lost’ or hidden the spare key before locking himself in the lab the next time. Even if the additional spare was never _needed_ , he knew Riza would appreciate having an extra one that her father wasn’t aware of. Just as a precaution. Neither spoke of it, but both teens were haunted by the thought of what might have happened if Riza had been alone in the house when Berthold collapsed behind locked doors. And though the man would never admit to it out loud, Roy knew that the thought disturbed his teacher as well.

* * *

 

**January 9**

The coughing started just four days later.

When Dr. James arrived late one afternoon to check in on them, as promised, he paused in the doorway of Berthold’s suite and frowned deeply at the scene within.

“Please tell me you’ve just choked on a sip of your water, Hawkeye,” he said threateningly. Berthold managed to shoot him a venomous glare in between gasping breaths. “No, it can never be anything simple with you, can it?” he sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair.

“Doctor James?” Riza questioned in a small voice. She had been sitting at her father’s bedside, waiting for him to finish the soup and bread she’d brought up for his supper.

“Ah, forgive my flippancy, Miss Hawkeye. I was afraid something like this might happen, what with the cold and the damp in that lab of his, but I’d hoped to be wrong. Let’s have a look, then,” he said, moving towards the bed. Without waiting to be told, Riza slipped off her chair and moved towards the open door, where Roy had stopped and hovered after leading the doctor upstairs.

“C’mon, let’s wait for him in the kitchen,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. She nodded wordlessly and let him lead her away, giving the doctor and his patient some privacy.

 Doctor James found them sitting side by side at the kitchen table with steaming mugs before them and identical expressions of dread on their young faces.

“Now, then, you needn’t look so glum as all that,” he said gently, lowering himself into a third chair. “Your father has come down with a rather nasty cold, but with plenty of rest and fluids and the medicine I’ll prescribe, he’ll be right as rain in another week or two.”

“Thank you very much, Doctor. When shall I pick up the medication?” Riza asked, almost mechanically.

“Oh, I’ll send it along tomorrow morning, don’t trouble yourself about it. Ah, thank you, my boy,” he added, as Roy quietly filled a third mug with hot chocolate and set in in front of him. “Now then, I know he sounds terrible, with that horrid wracking cough of his—the cold has settled in his lungs, you see. But as I said, rest and proper nutrition will go a long way toward getting him back on his feet.”

“Is there anything else I should do?” Riza asked.

“Has he been eating these last few days?” Riza nodded. “Good, good. Keep on doing what you’ve been doing, then, light meals and lots of fluids. He needn’t be confined to his room if he feels up to moving about, but I’d like you both to try and keep him out of that laboratory.”

“He’ll never agree to that,” Roy started to say, but the doctor raised a hand to cut off his protests.

“I’m not saying he can’t carry on with his work, or his research, if he’s insistent upon it. But he mustn’t sit down in that cold, damp basement for hours at a time, especially not in this weather. He can read those books of his and write up his notes in his study, where there’s a nice fire. You two should do anything you can think of to keep him occupied _outside_ of that lab. Once I’m satisfied that he’s made a full recovery, of course, he can do anything he likes.”

Riza and Roy exchanged a glance and a nod.

“We understand, sir,” Roy said at last.

“We’ll do whatever we can,” Riza added softly. The doctor’s face softened.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you. But it shouldn’t last longer than two weeks, and I’ll come by every few days to check on his progress, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” they’d answered in unison.

* * *

 

**January 10**

The two conspirators planned out each day carefully.

Meal times were the easiest, as Riza had an excuse to wait quietly at his side throughout so that she could carry the dishes away again. In addition, both teens still had lessons to be overseen, so they took turns carrying piles of books into his room, feigning ignorance on various subjects and pleading for his assistance. Berthold coughed almost delicately into a handkerchief and sipped at the hot tea they carried in with them, probably seeing through their naïve attempts to distract him at a glance. But he played along anyway, calmly and patiently answering even the most inane questions and launching into detailed and complex explanations whenever possible.

Roy wondered whether he was trying to distract himself, as well.

Some mornings, he allowed Roy to help him down the stairs and into his study, submitting even to the extra blankets tucked over his lap with a good grace. There, he read and fidgeted with his notes, pretending not to notice that his daughter and his student took turns doing the various chores and other errands so that he was never actually left alone. And yet he stubbornly continued his reading and writing late into the night, when he accepted his daughter’s arm as he traversed the stairs back to his bedroom.

* * *

 

**January 20**

Roy realized that Berthold’s illness was worse than he was letting on nearly two weeks after Dr. James had first visited. When Roy entered his teacher’s bedroom in the morning, he found the man only partially dressed and wheezing, half-sprawled in the armchair by his bedside.

“I don’t…think I’m up for…the stairs, today,” he gasped. “You’ll have to…study alone…for the time being.” And he began coughing violently. Roy, pale and anxious, helped his teacher back into bed. Carefully, he held a glass of water to his teacher’s lips until Berthold gave the signal that he’d had enough.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? A book? Anything?” Roy asked in a small voice, placing the half empty glass back on the nightstand. Berthold shifted restlessly.

“You needn’t fuss,” he said, having finally caught his breath. “I’m in no condition to make it down stairs today, much less carry out any experiments. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sensei, I—” Roy started to say. Berthold just shook his head.

“No use denying it, child,” he said wearily.

“We just…I mean…it gets so cold down in the lab,” Roy mumbled. Berthold surprised him by smiling faintly.

“So it does,” he agreed. “Most unfortunate that one cannot divorce one’s intellect from the frailty of one’s mortal coil, is it not? Minor inconveniences like hunger or cold can, to an extent, be conquered by one’s will, but the effects of illness on the body are not so easily ignored,” he sighed.

“Yes, sensei,” Roy replied, slightly uncomfortable.

“All I require now are the patience and endurance necessary to see this illness through to its end. For this too, shall pass,” he murmured, closing his eyes and leaning back against his pillows. “But until then, I must, as they say, ‘take it easy.’”

“But—” Roy started to ask. But he cut himself off, biting his lip. Berthold opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Go on,” he commanded. Flushing a little, Roy obeyed.

“If you knew what we were trying to do, why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked meekly. Berthold managed a weak, phlegmy chuckle.

“I resolved to say nothing unless your machinations became tiresome. I couldn’t begrudge my daughter the modicum of control they gave her over a situation in which she is ultimately helpless.” As Roy was considering this idea, Berthold suddenly beamed. “Besides…it amused me,” he added.

“Sensei!” Roy admonished, but he couldn’t help but laugh self-deprecatingly as his teacher smiled up at him.

“I’ll rest a little now. But I should like my daughter to read aloud to me, later this afternoon, if she’s amenable. Ask her to bring something contemporary, won’t you? I tire of the histrionics of the Drachman writers she’s been translating.”

“I will, sir.”

When he relayed the message to Riza, she managed a little half-laugh.

“I wondered how long he’d play along,” was all that she said. She was dressed to go out, having intended to run to the market during Roy’s ‘shift.’

“Here,” he said, reaching for the basket dangling from her arm.

“Hm?” she replied, distracted.

“The marketing. Let me. I know you’d rather stay here, so why don’t you let me worry about the groceries for today? Go on and find a book to read, for later.” Riza smiled and touched his arm.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang. Take your time; there’s nothing especially important on the list for today.”

Roy did take his time, mentally composing his next letter to home as he walked slowly along the familiar road. The mid-winter day was chilly but dry, and the pale sunlight was comfortably warm on his face. Once he reached town, he meandered a bit, stopping now and then to chat with the merchants and haggle over the prices. He noticed that many of the items he picked out were drastically cheaper than they normally were, and he wondered whether it was because the shopkeepers knew his teacher was doing poorly. Mrs. Pippen even slipped him a bottle of her famous cider that he hadn’t paid for, with a little wink and smile when he tried to protest.

When he passed the feed store, Polly Plummer darted out, her golden hair streaming out behind her as she ran toward him.

“Mr. Mustang!” she cried. “Please, will you take this to Master Hawkeye for us?” As she spoke, she held out a small jar full of a reddish brown liquid. Roy peered at it dubiously as she thrust it into his outstretched hands.

“Sure, yeah. What is it?”

“A cough remedy. I know Doc’s looking after him, but Mum insisted. It’s an old recipe passed down from her mother’s grandmother: ginger, cider vinegar and honey. Oh, and cayenne pepper.” Roy wrinkled his nose involuntarily, but tried to smile.

“Er, sounds great,” he said politely. Polly grinned at him.

“It tastes pretty terrible, but a spoonful every few hours has always done the trick whenever any of our lot get sick. And Doctor James said it certainly couldn’t hurt, when Mum asked him about sending it to Master Hawkeye,” she added, a little shyly.

“Thanks,” Roy said with a more genuine smile. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you’re thinking of him.”

“I gotta get back. Tell Miss Hawkeye I said hello!” Polly called out, already halfway back to her store. Roy resumed his walk back with a lighter heart. It was always nice to see how much the people here cared for one another. Even if they were all in awe of the great Alchemist, they still wanted to help him in whatever way they could.

 

As he rounded the last curve in the road, idly swinging the market basket full of groceries in one hand, an unexpected movement from the house caught Roy's eye.

On the Hawkeye’s front porch stood a young man wearing a long black coat over crisp military blues. Roy froze in his tracks, surprised, as the man leaned slightly away from the front door in order to peer through the only uncovered window on the ground floor. Unaware of his audience, the young man rapped his knuckles sharply on the door.

“Hello! Anyone home?” he called in a clear, kind voice. “Hello?” His words roused Roy from his stupor, and he cautiously moved closer.

“Can I help you?” Roy asked, slowly approaching the front steps. The young solider started a little and whirled to face him.

“Hi, there,” he said with an easy smile. “I was beginning to think I’d been sent on a wild goose chase,” he added with a self-conscious little laugh. “Would you happen to know whether Mr. Berthold Hawkeye lives here?”

“You’ve got the right address,” Roy said, slightly wary. “But Master Hawkeye has been ill recently, so he’s not seeing any visitors.” The man’s face fell slightly, making him look suddenly much younger.

“Oh, I see,” he said sadly. Roy felt an unexpected rush of pity for him.

“What did you need to see him about, anyway? Maybe I can take him a message?” he offered impulsively.

“Do you know him, then?” the other man asked with a hopeful expression. And then, spotting the basket in Roy’s hand, his eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah, you must be one of Master Hawkeye’s alchemy students!”

“Yes, sir. Roy Mustang,” he replied, offering his free hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry; how rude of me. I’m First Lieutenant William Price,” the young man said. As he moved forward to shake Roy’s proffered hand, Roy squared his shoulders and straightened his back in an unconscious imitation of the other man’s military posture.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Roy said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slight movement at one of the upper windows, and realized that Riza was watching them. And probably listening, as well. And that she’d almost certainly ignored the soldier’s knocking _intentionally_. Something to keep in mind, he knew.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Mustang,” Lieutenant Price was saying cheerfully. “So he’s been ill, has he? Nothing too serious, I hope?” Roy nearly snapped out a smart-ass retort, but the other man’s eyes shown with such genuine sincerity and good will that he hadn’t the heart.

“He’ll make a full recovery,” he said instead. “Please excuse my bluntness, sir, but are you a friend of sensei’s? He didn’t say he was expecting a visitor.”

“No, not at all. I’ve never met the man, myself,” Lieutenant Price replied affably.

Roy smiled a little. At least this Price character hadn’t attempted a self-serving lie—he’d already revealed that he wasn’t known to Berthold when he’d asked if he had the correct address. Roy mentally marked him as honest but perhaps not especially clever.

“Oh?” he said simply, raising one eyebrow and plastering a look of innocent curiosity on his face. As expected, the other man hastened to explain.

“Nope, I’m just out here on a mission. You see, I’ve been sent to speak to Master Hawkeye about the State Alchemist program.”

Not all _that_ surprising, Roy thought. Before she’d ever written to Master Hawkeye to arrange Roy’s apprenticeship, his aunt had mentioned several times how greatly sought after the man was. She’d also mentioned his strong feelings against becoming a ‘Dog of the Military,’ although she’d neglected to add that the military was still _actively_ trying to recruit him. Roy had simply assumed she’d been referring to an earlier point in his career.

“Wow, really? The State Alchemists, huh?” Roy said ingenuously. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be sorry he missed you.”

“To be honest, he probably won’t be,” Price said, grey eyes sparking. “He’s become something of a legend ‘round HQ, actually, since so many others have been sent to recruit him. I’m number twenty-seven.” Roy let out a startled bark of laughter. Now THAT was a surprise.

“I didn’t realize he was so popular,” he said, truthfully enough. _Twenty seven?!_

“Yes, well, your master is quite talented. Or at least, so my superiors say. I’m not an alchemist, myself, so I’m a poor judge. All alchemy seems pretty amazing to me,” Price chuckled again. “But I’m pretty sure they keep sending the new recruits to try their hand at persuading him to join as some sort of hazing ritual. You know, just to see how we’ll handle it,” he confided with a boyish smile. “From what I hear, he’s rather, er, _adamant_ about avoiding conscription.”

“Well, I’m sorry you won’t be able to speak with him,” Roy said, choosing his words carefully. He was starting to rather like this Lieutenant Price, but he certainly wasn’t about to invite him in. Riza would strangle him, assuming Berthold didn’t beat her to it.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Price said with a rueful smile. “At least I can say I tried. Say, would you mind giving him this letter for me? When he’s feeling better, that is?” He produced an official-looking packet from his inner coat pocket. “It’s just the usual offer, explaining the terms and such,” he explained when Roy looked doubtful. “He’s already got another twenty six just like it.”

“All right, then,” Roy said, accepting the letter. A sudden gust of cool wind made both of them shiver, and Lieutenant Price cast a wistful look over his shoulder at the house. Again Roy felt an inexplicable rush of sympathy for him. “Listen…I’m pretty much a guest here myself, so I’m not really at liberty to invite you in, but can I get you some tea or something before you  head back?” Price beamed at him.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d be much obliged. It _is_ rather chilly out here,” he replied.

“Come around back,” Roy said. “There’s an enclosed patio with a couple of chairs. It’s not heated, but we’ll be out of the wind back there.”

He led the other man around to the back of the house and waved his hand in the general direction of the patio chairs to indicate that he should make himself comfortable. When Roy slipped in through the back door, he half-expected to find Riza in the kitchen demanding to know what he thought he was playing at, but the room was empty. In fact, the whole house was eerily quiet around him. Shaking his head, Roy put away the groceries he’d picked up before making a quick pot of tea, which he loaded on a tray and carried out to his unexpected guest.

“Oh, thanks a million,” Price said sincerely, gratefully accepting his cup and wrapping his fingers around the warm enamel. Roy grinned.

“Don’t thank me before you’ve tasted it. I can never make it as good as Ri—as good as my aunt does,” he covered, suddenly afraid to reveal that his teacher had a young daughter. Price didn’t seem to notice the near-slip.

“Hey, gotta be better than the stuff we get in the barracks,” he smiled, blowing across the surface lightly before taking a careful sip. “Mm, yes, much better, well done.”

“Huh. Thanks, I guess. Say, if you’re not an alchemist, how come they sent you to recruit one?” Roy asked curiously.

“Oh, well. Most of us in the military are just ordinary soldiers, you know,” Lieutenant Price said. “The State Alchemists are…well, they aren’t _rare_ , exactly, but they’re definitely an elite force.”

“They wouldn’t normally be sent on recruitment missions, then?”

“Oh, sure, sometimes. Mostly alchemists come to _us_ , hoping to be accepted into the program. But when there are really talented amateur alchemists, like your teacher, who haven’t ever enrolled in the exams, that’s when the military will reach out to them; try to get them interested, you know. The first few men who spoke to Master Hawkeye were actually State Alchemists.”

“And once he’d made his lack of interest in the position clear…” Roy said, beginning to understand.

“Then HQ started sending those of us a bit lower on the totem pole,” Price finished for him.

“So you’re not wasting manpower on what’s pretty much a lost cause, but at the same time, Hawkeye-sensei knows the military is still interested in him. Just in case he changes his mind.”

“Exactly,” Price smiled. “It really is too bad he doesn’t want to join up…we could definitely use a brilliant man like him.”

“Hm,” Roy said noncommittally. “Since your people have tried to recruit Hawkeye-sensei before, then I’m sure you already know how he feels about the military and the government.”

“Sure. And it’s got its fair share of flaws; I’ll give him that,” Price admitted. “No system is perfect, of course. Not when it’s being run by us imperfect human beings. The Fuhrer has our best interests at heart, though, and I believe that he’s got the good of the Amestrian people in mind.”

“Even though there’s been a lot more armed conflict with the other nations since his rise to power?” Roy asked, repeating something he’d heard whispered about in the streets of Central City. Price shrugged.

“Well, think about it—we’re a small country smack dab in the middle of four great empires, who’d all probably like nothing more than to absorb us entirely. It’s not exactly a recipe for peaceful living,” he said simply. Roy hadn’t thought of it like that before.

“No, I guess not,” he admitted. Price warmed to his topic.

“We’re literally surrounded—there’re enemies on all sides. Someone has to protect the civilians who can’t look after themselves, right? That’s where the military comes in.”

“Can’t look after themselves?” Roy repeated, faintly offended.

“Take this little town, for example. Folks around here seem real nice and friendly, but when it comes down to it, they’re just farmers and shopkeepers. If they were invaded tomorrow, they wouldn’t last two minutes,” he said, shaking his head. Roy had a fleeting mental image of the Kingsley boys, backed into a corner and trying to protect their mother and sister with nothing more than a few farm implements as faceless enemy soldiers advanced mercilessly. He shuddered.

“I suppose,” he murmured uncertainly. He was torn between the desire to defend his friends and a nagging fear that this young solider spoke the truth.

“I’m sure they’d do their damnedest,” Price said kindly, correctly interpreting Roy’s frown. “And I’m not saying that any one of them is weak or incapable, you understand. It’s just that, up against a determined enemy with proper training and better weapons…well, it wouldn’t exactly be a sporting fight, is all.”

“I…yeah, I see what you mean,” Roy conceded with a sigh. “I guess I’d just never thought of it like that before.”

“Sure,” Price said easily, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair a bit. “I never did either, until…well. Until I had to.” A shadow passed over the handsome young face, and Roy’s intuition stirred.

“You lost someone,” he said softly. Price sighed and stared fixedly at something in the distance.

“My older sister,” he admitted, after a long pause. “We lived in a tiny little no-name border town, not much smaller than this one, in fact. There were some folks operating a smuggling ring, folks who were in the country illegally. And these men were _brutal_. At the slightest provocation, they’d crush anyone and anything they thought might get in their way.”

“And your sister?” Roy prompted, hardly daring to breathe. Price’s face twisted in pain.

“Bad case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was barely twelve, but she stood up to them, tried to take them on, to buy me enough time to get away,” he explained in a curiously thick voice. Clearing his throat, once, twice, he went on: “I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, and I screamed until I was hoarse, but…by the time I found someone willing and able to help…it was already too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy said, helplessly. Those two words had never felt so inadequate. “I—I’ve got sisters of my own, back home, and I can’t…I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to one of them.” They sat in silence for another few minutes, their tea long since grown cold.

“I was just a little kid,” Price continued at last. “But I blamed myself for a long time. All I could think was: if only I’d been stronger, I could’ve protected her myself. I could’ve held them off so that _she_ could have escaped. Maybe I could have saved her instead of the other way around. And then finally I thought, well, I can’t change the past. But maybe…just maybe I can prevent some other family from going through the same thing, you know?”

“So you decided to enlist?” Price nodded.

“The men who tried to help us that day were soldiers, you see. No one else had the guts to stand up to those men. And after all, that is the military’s job. Protect and serve, and all that.”

“‘Be thou for the people,’” Roy quoted quietly. Price smiled a little sadly.

“Yeah. I wasn’t quite bright enough to study alchemy and become a State Alchemist myself, but I’m a damn good foot solider. I want to stand up for my fellow countrymen, you know? To stand between the good, decent people and the folks that want to do them harm. I don’t want a single child to have to suffer the way my sister and I suffered. So…I joined up as soon as I turned eighteen.”

“That’s…a really honorable thing to do,” Roy finally said. Price blushed a little and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“That, um, that was probably a heavier conversation than what you had in mind when you offered me tea,” he said, laughing a little nervously. “Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t be. I’m glad you were honest, actually,” Roy answered. Price fiddled with his tea cup for a moment.

“Hey,” he said, slowly. “You’re studying to be an alchemist…you ever considered the military?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Roy replied. “I dunno that I’m good enough to be a State Alchemist, not anywhere near.” Price grinned and rose, stretching his arms over his head.

“Well, when your teacher chucks out that letter, you ought to have a glance at it. It explains some of the perks and benefits of the program. Just a thought, no pressure.”

“Yeah, couldn’t hurt. Thanks.”

“No, thank you, for the tea and everything. I should get back if I want to catch the next train out,” Price added, consulting his watch. “Hey, thanks again, Mr. Mustang. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure. Have a safe trip,” Roy replied automatically.

But his eyes were fixed on the letter in his lap.

Riza didn’t question him about their unwanted visitor, seemingly more interested in the small gifts from her neighbors. When presented with the Plummer family’s cough remedy, she smiled for what felt like the first time in days.

As predicted, Berthold merely snorted at the sight of the letter and ordered Roy to throw it into the fire at once. Roy pretended to comply, obediently crossing the room to toss the envelope into the flames. But only after he’d tucked the contents into the waistband of his trousers, concealed by his jacket. He felt faintly ridiculous for being so secretive, rather like the character in some cloak-and-dagger spy thriller, though far less glamorous. But his vague sense of embarrassment didn’t prevent him returning to his room at the earliest opportunity so that he could read through the terms and conditions of the proposed contract to join the State Alchemists. They were more generous than he’d imagined. Before crawling back into bed, Roy thoughtfully tucked the letter into his notebook.

Maybe...maybe it was something he should at least consider.

 


	12. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Berthold's illness is more serious than he's been letting on and Roy starts to worry about his future.

**February 1**

As January became February, it became clear that Berthold’s illness was not the simple cold as Dr. James had initially believed. Three whole weeks had passed, now, and Hawkeye-sensei’s illness wasn’t showing much improvement. He was beginning to grow restless, though, and Riza and Roy had their doubts about how much longer they could keep him out of his lab, sickness or no.

On one particularly restless night, Roy was reading aloud from a scientific journal, some article about the advances being made in the field of automail. He glanced at his teacher as he paused to turn a page, and found that the man was watching him with the same intensity that had made him so uncomfortable a few weeks before.

“Sensei?” he asked uncertainly. “Is…something the matter?”

“She’s worried about me. Isn’t she?” There was no need to ask who he was talking about.

“Yes, sir,” Roy answered softly. Berthold sighed.

“My poor little lion-heart. She thinks I don’t know what she suffers. She believes she’s kept it all hidden from me,” he murmured. “But I know. I’ve always known.” Roy frowned.

“What are you—?” he started to ask.

“Idiot girl,” Berthold said suddenly, in a fonder tone than the words might have suggested. “She thinks I don’t know each and every thing they did to her. She thinks that she’s protecting me…us…by hiding the truth and suffering indignity and pain in silence.” Roy noticed, with increasing alarm, that his teacher had bright spots of color on his cheeks, and that his eyes were glassy and bright.

“Sir, are…are you talking about your daughter?” Berthold ignored the question.

“And then you came. You’re the one, I think. And not merely the only one capable of it. Many of them might have been capable…but you’re the only one worthy of the honor. She thinks so, too. She told me so herself, you see. Told me that you were different from all the others; from all those many that came before. My sweet, brave girl. None of them was fit to lay a finger on one hair of her head,” he rambled, growing increasingly agitated.

Frightened now, Roy slowly stretched out a hand and rested it on his teacher’s brow. He drew it back almost at once. The man was burning up.

“Sensei, have you taken your medicine today?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, hello, my boy. When did you get here? And where did my Riza get to? She was reading to me, just a moment ago,” he trailed off, looking vaguely around the room as though his daughter might be hiding somewhere.

“I—I’ll be right back, sensei,” Roy managed in a shaking voice.

Thundering down the stairs, he nearly collided with Riza at the bottom. Steadying her and the tray she’d been carrying, he quickly told her about the fever in a low voice. Moving quickly, she exchanged the dinner tray for a basin of cold water and a cloth while Roy searched the house for the medication Dr. James had left only the day before, finding it at last in a drawer in Berthold’s study. Between then two of them, he and Riza managed to convince Berthold to swallow the medicine tablets, and Riza gently bathed her father’s brow with a damp cloth while Roy paced at the foot of the bed.

“It’s all right,” Berthold murmured as he looked up into Riza’s worried eyes. “I’ll be all right once the fever breaks. It will all be all right, you’ll see...”

Riza merely pressed her lips together and brushed a strand of his damp hair away from his eyes.

It took another hour, but the combination of the medicine and the cold compress finally lowered his fever to a more acceptable temperature, and Berthold had succumbed to his exhaustion. Shaken and anxious, the teens decided to camp out in his room, just in case he should need them for anything in the night. Roy dragged the chaise lounge in from the dressing room for Riza to sleep on, while she fetched blankets from her room. Roy opted to curl up in the armchair, which luckily was one of the comfortably overstuffed types, and drifted into an uneasy sleep listening to the low, rumbling snores of his teacher.

**February 2, 4:28 am**

Roy woke sometime in the early morning with a stiff back and a kink in his neck, and decided to move his things to the floor. A glance at the uncovered windows told him that it wasn’t yet dawn, and the only light in the entire room came from the embers in the fireplace. It was oddly intimate, sitting there in the warmth of the rosy half-light and listening to his companions breathing softly while everything else around him remained utterly still and silent.

Dumping his blankets on the floor near the hearth, Roy quietly tended to the dying fire, stirring the glowing embers and gently blowing on them as he slowly added bits of kindling. By the time he had the flames crackling merrily, Riza had extricated herself from her cocoon of blankets on the lounge. After resting a hand on her father’s forehead, she sighed in relief. Pulling one of the blankets over her shoulders like a cape, she padded over to Roy’s fireside nest and slowly settled herself beside him.

Without a word, he slid an arm around her waist and let her lean her head on his shoulder. They sat like that, staring into the dancing flames, until the pearly gray light signaled the arrival of dawn. As silently as she’d joined him, Riza rose from her place at Roy’s side and glided away, blanket wrapped tightly around her.

In all the excitement, Berthold’s feverish words about hidden suffering and worthiness completely slipped Roy’s mind. As it turned out, he wouldn’t have cause to think about them again for several more years.

Hawkeye-sensei was bedridden for nearly a week following his dangerously high fever. Dr. James became a daily visitor, and Roy and Riza both noted with uneasiness that the man’s demeanor became more serious with each passing day. But it wasn’t until a rainy afternoon some days later that they truly understood the gravity of the situation.

**February 6**

At the sound of clinking china, Roy glanced up from his books and notes. Riza was attempting to navigate the stairs balancing a heavily laden tray with only one hand, the other being occupied by a sizeable stack of books culled from her father’s library. Cheerfully abandoning his work, Roy bounded after her and offered to help carry something. She agreed with a grateful smile, allowing him to relieve her of the tea tray, which she’d been taking up to her father and Dr. James. Roy followed her up the stairs and along the hallway leading to her father’s suite, where the doctor and patient had sequestered themselves about half an hour earlier.

Hearing raised voices from within, both teens stopped just outside the door—which stood partially open. Roy caught Riza’s eye and shook his head in warning. Shifting the books in her arms, she bit her lip uncertainly but nodded. Silently, Roy crept closer.

“I’ve run the tests _four_ different times, now,” the doctor was saying in an exasperated voice. “I even confirmed my results with a specialist in North City! I can assure you: there is no mistake.”  

Roy risked peering through the crack in the door. His teacher, wearing a silk dressing gown the color of claret, was standing at one of the windows and staring out at the rain. Dr. James had been seated in an armchair nearby, but as Roy watched he leaped to his feet and began pacing the room.

“I examined the cultures myself, Berthold,” he declared, running agitated hands through his thinning hair. “There’s no mistake. I wish to God there was, but...”

“But I feel just _fine_ ,” Berthold growled, turning to glare at the doctor. Roy chanced a worried glance over his shoulder at Riza, whose face had completely drained of color.

“Good, wonderful,” Dr. James said impatiently. “But you _must_ continue taking these pills if you wish to stay that way. It’s a very serious diagnosis, yes, and not to be taken lightly, but there have been advances in medicine of late. Your disease is completely manageable, _with_ the right medications!”

“This is absurd. It’s not my time, yet,” Berthold said in a low voice.

“If you truly believe that, then why won’t you listen to me?” the doctor cried, sounding nearly desperate.

Berthold mumbled something Roy couldn’t hear. But it made the doctor freeze in his tracks.

“Oh, Berthold,” Dr. James breathed. He moved slowly to stand just behind the taller man, and cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t…Tereza’s illness wasn’t…this isn’t the same, I swear to you,” he said softly.

A shudder ran through Roy’s frame, rattling the china on the forgotten tray in his hands. Both men whipped around to face the door, and Roy immediately made the decision to play dumb. He’d seen his ‘sisters’ in action plenty of times before; what better time to put their lessons into practice? He carefully nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder, leaving the stricken girl behind him in the hallway. Praying she’d understand, Roy greeted his teacher and the doctor with a polite smile.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Hawkeye asked me to bring this up for you,” he explained amiably, pretending not to see the quick look exchanged by the two older men. Moving to the table beside the armchair the doctor had lately vacated, he carefully set the tray down and straightened the items on it. “She’s made those shortbread cookies you like, Dr. James,” he added.

“Mr. Mustang,” the doctor began, uneasily. “Did—were you just—?”

“Hm? What’s that, sir?” Roy asked innocently, looking up at him with a mildly curious expression. Dr. James studied him for a moment and then shook his head.

“No, it’s…never mind, son. Please thank Miss Hawkeye, and let her know I’ll stop in to chat with her on my way out,” he said.

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me,” Roy answered courteously, with a slight bow. He made the mistake of glancing in his teacher’s direction as he turned to leave. Their eyes met. The hairs on the back of Roy’s neck stood straight up, but he managed to hide any outward sign of alarm. With steady, even steps, he left the room with the certainty that his teacher _knew_ he’d overheard their conversation.

Half-expecting Riza to have fled in search of solitude, as she often did when stressed or upset, Roy was oddly gratified to find her waiting for him right where he’d left her. Gently taking the stack of books from her arms, he hesitated for just a moment before turning and walking towards her bedroom. Like a sleepwalker, she glided along after him, hardly seeming to know where she was going. She sank onto the edge of her bed as he dropped the books onto a chair and quietly shut the door behind them.

“I knew something was wrong,” she whispered as Roy sat beside her. Pressing herself into his side, she shuddered violently. “I _knew_ it.” At a loss, all Roy could do for the moment was wrap his arm around her and let her shiver against him.

Serious diagnosis, the doctor had said. But how serious? And how long had Hawkeye-sensei planned to keep his real illness from his daughter? And Dr. James! How long had he been aware that Berthold’s nasty cold was more than it appeared to be? Were they trying to protect her somehow, as though her ignorance would somehow prevent her father from succumbing to a deadly illness? _Was_ it actually a deadly illness? Dr. James had just been saying it was manageable, with the right medicine…what did that mean?

“Shit,” he whispered. Beside him, Riza huffed.

“Yeah,” she said. In a strained whisper, she added: “Oh god, _Papa_...why is this happening?” Roy tightened his grip around her.

“Maybe…maybe it’s not quite as bad as it sounded,” he said, trying for optimism. “We don’t have all the facts; we only heard a small part of one conversation. Right?”

“I-I _suppose_ …but it certainly didn’t sound like good news,” she replied. They were both silent for a moment, thinking.

“I’m sorry,” Roy finally whispered.

“Thanks,” she whispered back, leaning her head against his shoulder. After several long minutes, she sighed audibly and pulled away. “Dr. James,” she said. “He said he’d come talk to me, didn’t he? I—I don’t even know what to say.  Should I ask him what they were talking about?” Roy frowned.

“May as well. He’d probably tell you more than sensei would.” Realizing a second too late how that had sounded, Roy winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Riza just shook her head.

“No, don’t be. You’re right. Papa isn’t exactly chatty, especially concerning himself,” she replied, with a humorless little laugh. “To be honest, I’ve been expecting something like this for the last few days,” she admitted, standing up. “Given the way Dr. James was acting.”

“That man would make a lousy poker player,” Roy agreed with a sigh. “Do you want me to—?” he asked, with a vague gesture towards the door. Riza gave him the ghost of a smile.

“I appreciate the offer, but no. He might be more forthcoming if it’s only me asking the questions.”

“True. You really don’t play the motherless waif card very often. Gives it more of a punch,” he joked weakly. Her lips twitched.

“Maybe I can dredge up a few tears,” she retorted. At the oddly thick quality to her voice, Roy’s eyes widened, panicking.

“Hey, now, save the waterworks for the doc, huh?” he said, jumping up and enfolding her into another hug. Riza choked on a sob and tried to laugh.

“Why do boys always panic at the very idea of a girl in tears?” she mumbled, face muffled against his chest.

“I dunno, I guess it makes us feel like we’ve failed somehow,” Roy mused, stroking her hair softly. “We’re supposed to be the big, strong, protectors, you know? So if our sister or mother or girlfriend, or any other woman we love ends up in tears, then we’ve mucked it up somehow, let something hurt her. Or worse, actually done something ourselves to cause her pain, however inadvertently.”

“That sounds a little sexist,” she said, with a watery half-laugh.

“Hey, I didn’t say it was rational,” Roy protested, pulling back so he could glare at her. “It’s one of those instinctual, cave-man-brain reactions, okay?”

“Well if it helps, _you_ haven’t failed me,” she said softly, looking up at him with damp dark eyes. “In fact, I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” Roy replied, stroking a thumb affectionately across her (mercifully dry) cheek.

“I should go,” she added reluctantly. “Before he leaves and I miss my chance.”

“Yeah,” Roy sighed. “I’ll be in my room, if you wanna talk about it, you know…after.”

“Thanks,” she said, with one last squeeze of his hand.

Careful to check that the coast was clear before leaving Riza’s bedroom, Roy realized the flaw in his plan as soon as his own door closed behind him. Pacing restlessly, he knew that being cooped up would only make him more anxious. He wanted nothing more than to go for a long walk, just to think, regardless of the downpour outside. He tried and failed to settle down with a book, and then with his writing materials, but he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand. Invariably, his mind kept returning to the phrases ‘serious diagnosis,’ and ‘it’s not my time.’”

Finally he threw himself face down on his bed, prepared to have a proper sulk. And naturally, that’s when someone knocked softly on his door.

“Come in,” he called, rolling over and sitting up. The door swung open to reveal his teacher. “Sensei!” Roy gasped.

“I’d like a word with you, in my study,” Hawkeye-sensei said quietly. Roy nodded wordlessly, still shocked, and meekly followed the older man downstairs.

“It’s about the terms of your apprenticeship, child,” Berthold began, folding his hands neatly as they settled on opposite sides of the large desk.

“M-my apprenticeship, sir?” Roy repeated, bewildered. “What about it?”

“You heard me speaking to Dr. James, earlier,” his teacher said. It wasn’t a question.

“Erm, yes, some of it, sir,” Roy admitted. He didn’t bother to apologize for eavesdropping. They both knew that wasn’t why Berthold had called him in here.

“I thought as much,” Berthold nodded sagely. “As you are no doubt aware, I have been severely ill these past few weeks,” he said, before fixing Roy with one of his painfully intense stares.

“Um, yes, sir,” Roy said when it became clear that Berthold was waiting for him to reply.

“As it happens, I have contracted a very serious illness, from which I will never fully recover,” he stated. Roy swallowed thickly.

“Never fully recover?” he echoed, stricken. Berthold’s gaze softened somewhat.

“Though I may rightfully be considered a learned scholar, the knowledge of the future is rarely granted to mortal man,” he said, with a very slight smile. “And therefore I cannot promise that _any_ man or woman in this world will be alive when the sun rises tomorrow morning, myself included. But I am likely to live as long as any other man my age.”

“So…so what does that mean?”

“Merely that this body has become weakened. However long I may live, I shall never again enjoy complete good health,” Berthold explained gently. “But you needn’t look quite so concerned. I have no plans to collapse here and now.”

“I…I see,” Roy managed.

“The good doctor assures me that the symptoms are manageable, for the most part. I shall have periods where there are no discernible effects of the virus on my body, and periods where I am bedridden and quite possibly writhing in excruciating pain,” Berthold said plainly.

“I—I’m really sorry, sir,” Roy said sincerely. There was truly nothing else he could have said. Berthold gave him a small nod in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, child. Now, as both a friend and my physician, Theodore has been trying to convince me that I ought to take a break—a sabbatical, if you will, at least until my health is slightly less…hazardous. Unfortunately, this would leave you in a somewhat precarious position.”

“I—how’s that, sir?” Roy asked, not quite following.

“Our arrangement was to last until the end of April, yes? And of course, I ought not to include these last several weeks, during which we have spent very little time on alchemy,” Berthold said. “Which leaves us between twelve and fifteen weeks until your contracted time is complete.” Roy didn’t bother to check the math in his head.

“Ye-es,” he said slowly. “That sounds about right.” His teacher smiled wanly at him.

“I am proposing that we put a hold on our contract, my boy. For several weeks, at least, if not months.”

“Are you saying…you want me to leave?” Roy asked in a very small voice.

“Not at all. You are welcome to stay here for the duration of my recovery, if you’d like. Though you’ll no doubt wish to discuss it with your aunt, first. But the fact is, I will not be fit to teach you properly for some time hence,” Berthold replied, looking troubled for the first time. “And if you should choose to simply terminate the contract, I can assure you that your tuition for the remainder of your time will be refunded to your aunt at once—”

“No!” Roy interrupted. “No, I don’t want that. I’d rather just wait, sir, however long as it takes. I’m sure Aunt Chris will understand, once I explain it to her.”

“Very well,” Berthold said softly. “If that is your wish. That was all we needed to discuss, my child. Would you please tell my daughter that I’d like to speak to her? Theodore should have gone by now.”

Dr. James _hadn’t_ gone yet.

When Roy entered the kitchen, he found the older man gently patting Riza’s hand as he spoke in a soft, kind voice. Riza looked more fragile than he’d ever seen her look before—including the time she’d been too injured to even walk. A quick glance around the kitchen told Roy that she’d started to make supper, or at least pulled out several ingredients and started to wash and chop some vegetables, all of which had been abandoned the second the doctor had entered the room. Roy cleared his throat.

“When you’re finished, sensei wanted to see Miss Riza,” he said softly as they both turned towards him.

“Very well. I think that’s all, for the time being,” Dr. James replied, rising. “I’ll be by again tomorrow evening, my dear,” he added for Riza’s benefit. “Good night.” Gathering his coat and bag, he clapped Roy on the back before striding swiftly from the room. Riza hesitated, glancing round at the state of the kitchen.

“Go on,” Roy prompted. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll make myself something. And we can talk later.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you,” she added, and darted away.

After she left, Roy spent a few minutes staring out the window. It was still raining, quite heavily. But it would be light outdoors for at least another hour yet. He wasn’t remotely hungry, and he knew he couldn’t go back and attempt to sit quietly in his room again. He needed to get out, to move. Decision made, Roy grabbed his coat and a spare umbrella out of the hall closet, and slipped out the front door.

Considering his options, Roy chose a path that wouldn’t be visible from the study windows. Squelching through the mud puddles, he focused his entire being on the soothing patter of rain falling on his umbrella. A cold wind whistled past him, its icy fingers cutting right through his rain-spattered clothes and seeming to settle deep in his bones.

He wandered somewhat aimlessly for a while, thinking about Riza’s mother and his own long dead parents. When it started to grow dark, he found himself standing beside the rain-swollen river. He stared numbly at the churning water, roaring by with various bits of flotsam and jetsam borne aloft on muddy, white-crested peaks. It was another moment before he realized that his vision had grown slightly blurry, and that his face was wet.

“Damn this rain,” he mumbled miserably, swiping at the salt water on his cheeks.

**February 13 th **

After another week, Hawkeye-sensei appeared to be on the mend. Although, if what he’d told Roy about his illness was true, he was really only entering a sort of temporary dormant period. And he was clearly still very weak, barely able to leave his bed for more than a few hours at a time. Even so, he coughed less, and his color looked much better. And consequently, Riza’s color looked much better.

During these days, Roy continued to study independently as best as he was able, as did Riza. At night, he lay awake and wondered how long he would have to wait before resuming his apprenticeship. Even more troubling, though, was the fact that he couldn’t find the words to write to his aunt and explain what was happening.

He still wrote to the girls, knowing from experience what would happen if he neglected them for too long. But his letters were full of the trivial rather than the substantial—he wrote about the dreariness of the constant cold rain, the difficulty he was having with his studies (not wholly untrue, he told himself), and how much he’d enjoyed the last novel Claire and Violet had mailed to him. He was also careful to add the little personal details that his girls thrived on—like how Riza had taken to reading up in the loft of the barn, wrapped in a quilt, since the trees outdoors were too wet and uncomfortable during this season. When he’d teased her about the tactical advantages of higher ground, she’d blushed and admitted that old habits were hard to break.

But all the while, Roy fretted over _how_ to tell his aunt about the hiatus in his apprenticeship. He was certain she’d want him to come home and find something else to keep him busy in the meantime, in spite of what he’d told his teacher. And he didn’t want to go, yet. He couldn’t bear the idea of bussing tables at the bar, or of doing some other menial, mind-numbing job while he waited around for his teacher’s doctor to sign off on his health. Oddly enough, he also couldn’t bear the idea of finding some other alchemy teacher. Of being sent off to live with another stranger, who would undoubtedly be inferior to Hawkeye-sensei. Even the thought of arranging to take additional lessons with a private tutor in the comfort of his aunt’s home was an unpleasant one.

But he knew he couldn’t put it off much longer.

Every evening, he settled at his desk with a pen and a stack of paper, scribbling out and rapidly discarding draft after draft of letter, late into the night. And one night, instead of writing to his aunt, he found himself drafting a letter to someone else entirely.  

_Dear Sir or Madam,_

_I am writing to request information about joining this nation’s armed services…_

Roy paused, carefully weighing his options.

Ever since talking to that young lieutenant, he’d been thinking about the military in the back of his mind. Every time the news on the radio reported another border skirmish, where lives were lost and property irreparably damaged, he remembered Price’s desire to protect people. He remembered also the idea that a small country surrounded by larger ones, which wanted nothing more than to absorb it into themselves, must fight to protect itself and its independence.

When he’d first started dabbling with alchemy, he’d aspired to become nothing more than a private alchemist, someone like his teacher—the kind of man who used his talent to help people in need. He’d never thought he’d be good enough to be a certified State Alchemist. But maybe, if he worked hard enough, if he pushed himself…maybe one day he _could_ be. And if he were a part of the military, he’d still be able to help people in a different way, whether or not he had the talent to be a State Alchemist.

That much was clear. The real problem was how his aunt would react to his decision. Although he was still technically a minor, he knew boys as young as sixteen who’d joined the military academy. He wasn’t entirely certain whether they’d needed the approval of their parents, though, and that was something else he should clarify while he was asking for information. Then again, he’d turn eighteen in a few short months, so it wasn’t all that dire. As long as he qualified, no one would be legally able to prevent him from joining up once he reached the age of majority. If he had to, he supposed, he could just wait.

Tapping his pen lightly against the desk, he wondered what Chris would do if he joined up _without_ her permission. She’d be upset, certainly…but if it was something he really wanted to do, would she actively try to stop him? She had plenty of friends in high places, so she probably _could_ prevent him if she set her mind to it.

But would she?

It wasn’t an ignoble profession, certainly. And he’d be another resource for her, with access to a younger generation, who might be freer or more honest with a comrade than with a cute girl from the local bar. Alternatively, he could easily persuade comrades to join him at the bar, thus bringing fresh sources of information Chris’s way as often as necessary.

Straightening, he pulled out a fresh sheet and began to jot down notes. If he had a clear, rational argument prepared, he’d be able to assuage any reservations Chris might have and possibly even earn her blessing. Assuming, of course, that he qualified at all.

**February 13**

Feeling both nervous and a little silly, Roy dropped the letter into the mail box in front of the general store rather than go into the post office as he normally did. He really didn’t relish the idea of facing questions, so he’d also taken the precaution of writing his return address inside of the letter itself, rather than on the envelope. After all, if he never heard anything back, then no one ever need to know he’d even applied. Nothing to lose.

And so he was surprised to receive an official-looking packet only five days later. If Mrs. White thought it odd that Roy was getting mail from the Amestrian Military Recruitment Centre, she didn’t mention it. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange. The military probably regularly sent out recruitment materials to able-bodied young men within a certain age range. It would certainly make sense to recruit strapping young farm boys from small towns like this one—they’d already be physically fit from all the work they did in their parents’ fields and barns and such, and most of them would be eager for the opportunity to seek adventure away from the rural family farm. Idly, Roy wondered how many of his acquaintances in this town had gotten a similar letter.

Once back home, he took his letter to the privacy of his room to read. Inside, there was a very polite form letter thanking him for his interest in his country’s armed forces, a sheet of answers to frequently asked questions, an informational pamphlet detailing the roles and responsibilities of enlisted men and officers, as well as an aptitude test, several pages long, that he would need to fill out and return if he truly had a desire to enlist. It took him less than an hour to complete. It took a lot longer to make up his mind to mail it back.

Nothing to do after that but wait.

* * *

**February 14-28**

One week passed, with no response. And then another. And Roy began to think his plan had been incredibly foolish.


	13. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy makes a decision and breaks several hearts at once in the process.

**March 17**

_Dear Aunt Chris,_

_I owe you an apology. I haven’t been entirely honest with you these last few weeks. Please don’t be angry; I’m quite certain you’ll understand once I’ve explained what’s been happening.  I suppose I should start from the beginning. By the time you read this letter, I’ll already be on my way back home…_

 

Although the rain had cleared up days ago, it was warm and sunny for the first time in weeks, and Roy was determined to spend the entire day outdoors. He took his time wandering through the woods, cheered by the bright yellow-green of budding leaves and new grass. The early spring flowers were running rampant as well: white wood anemones, pale blue crocuses, and golden yellow celandines.

Everything smelled lush and fresh and green, and Roy breathed deeply as he wound his way farther along the path. When he came to his favorite clearing, he flopped down in a soft patch of young grass to bask in the warm spring sun while he watched clouds drifting by overhead. He let his mind wander, daydreaming about innocuous things rather than dwelling on the difficult topics that he’d been living with for the past several weeks: death and loss and fear of what the future might hold. He dozed a bit as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair, and awoke feeling refreshed and at peace.

True to his intentions, Roy wiled away most of the day wandering about in the woods and out near the lake before he reluctantly turned his steps homeward. As he left the shelter of the trees, Roy noticed a small patch of early daffodils growing along one side of the path. Smiling, he plucked a handful, thinking that they’d brighten up the windowsill in the kitchen. He’d always thought of them as a cheerful sort of flower. At least, something about the sight of them had always made him feel a little bit happier. And just maybe they’d bring a smile to Riza’s face.

Following the tantalizing aroma of cooked meat and spices, Roy was unsurprised to find Riza in the kitchen. She was up to her elbows in soap suds at the sink, vigorously scrubbing at her good meat cleaver. Judging from the pots and pans stacked on the drying rack, and from the heavenly smell throughout the house, she’d apparently been making her amazing chicken and dumplings.

“Need a hand?” he called out, eyeing the pot simmering on the stove and wondering whether he could sneak a morsel without her noticing.

“There you are,” she greeted him, shutting off the water so they didn’t have to shout over the extra noise. “And no, thank you, I’ve nearly finished. What’ve you been up to today?”

“I went for a long walk, out by the lake. Been feeling a little stir-crazy, lately,” Roy replied, a little vaguely. He really didn’t want to delve into the true reasons behind his restlessness, but considering that it had been the first warm and sunny day in what felt like months, there was no need to elaborate. “Oh, I brought these back for you,” he added, offering her the small bundle of daffodils.

“They’re lovely, thank you,” she said, reaching for them. “The woods must be just bursting with flowers. I always love this time of year.” She set the flowers down carefully beside the sink, and began rummaging in a cupboard for something to put them in.

“Me, too,” Roy smiled. “You should see all the crocuses. Did I miss anything interesting while I was out?” he asked, peeking under the lid of the pot closest to him. Dumplings, just as he’d thought. He pinched one while Riza’s back was turned.

“Not particularly,” Riza was saying dryly. “Unless you find dusting hundreds of old books interesting.” Roy chuckled.

“Only if I’m reading them, and even then...” he shrugged, and popped the stolen dumpling into his mouth. It burned the roof of his mouth, but it was totally worth it.

“Exactly,” she said, emerging with a vase at last. “And I saw that.” He grinned a little sheepishly around his mouthful of dumpling as she mock-glared at him.

“The temptation was too great to resist,” he laughed.

“I hope you burned your tongue,” she said loftily, turning back to the sink with her vase. “Oh, I almost forgot! Dr. James brought our mail with him, when he stopped by this morning. There’s something there for you,” she added, gesturing toward the kitchen table.

Roy's heart skipped a beat. Could it be...? 

 _Knock it off_ , he told himself.  _Don't get all worked up over nothing. It’s probably just the girls._

“Oh? That was nice of him,” he managed in a nonchalant tone.

Behind him, the steady rush of water and the soft clatter of dishes indicated that Riza had already returned to her task, so he reached for the pile of mail she’d indicated and settled in his accustomed place at the table.

The envelope addressed to him was certainly not the usual letter from the girls. Roy opened it with trembling hands, forgetting to play it cool in his eagerness. A smile spread slowly across his face as he read the first few lines. 

He was so engrossed that he didn’t immediately register that the taps had shut off again, or that the quiet dish-washing sounds had ceased altogether. And so when Riza spoke again, he started so violently that he banged his knee against one of the table legs.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” she asked in a flat voice. Roy looked up quickly, rubbing his sore knee. Riza still stood at the sink, motionless, with her back to him and a damp towel clutched tightly in one hand. The bright faces of the daffodils in their vase on the counter beside her seemed to accuse him.

“Riza…” he began, helplessly. This _wasn’t_ how he’d planned on breaking the news to her.

“Roy, please. Don’t sugar-coat it,” she spat bitterly. Though her unprecedented use of his first name startled him, he didn’t show it.

“I…I am, yes,” he admitted. He heard a sharp intake of breath, but still she kept her back to him.

“When?” Her voice was barely audible.

“In about a week, probably,” he replied, quickly skimming the letter again to confirm the dates.

“I see,” she murmured. 

“It’s...I...I’ve been accepted into the military academy,” he explained, wondering how much she knew or had guessed just by looking at the envelope. “I haven’t even talked to my aunt, or made any official plans yet, but I’ll have to head home soon. I’ve got a lot to do if I’m to make it in time to start the spring semester,” he said, vaguely aware that he was starting to babble.

“Were you even going to tell me?” The coldness in her voice tore at his heart.

“Of course!” he said indignantly. “I just...I didn’t know if I’d even pass the preliminary evaluations. I sent them in by mail weeks ago. And when I didn’t hear back right away…” he trailed off.

“Does Papa know?” she asked next, still not looking at him.

“He’s the one who advised me to pursue other options in the first place,” Roy said, a little resentment creeping into his tone. That got a reaction—Riza whirled around to face him at last.

“He what?” she gasped, eyes flashing.

“Because of his illness,” Roy explained, miserably. “Dr. James was the one who first suggested it, I guess. Even though his cough has gotten better, you know sensei’s been struggling to find the energy necessary to get out of bed every day. Lectures and practical lessons are out of the question. And so we talked about taking a break for a while, maybe a few months? But…he did say that I probably ought to go back home in the meantime.”

“Oh,” Riza breathed. She wore the slightly stunned expression of someone who had just been slapped without provocation.

“He doesn’t know I’ve applied to the military academy, though,” he admitted softly. “My aunt doesn’t either...she’s gonna be furious when I spring this on her. But, I didn’t think they’d even accept my application, and then I don't know if I’ll get through all the basic training, so until I did...”

“You didn’t want to say anything to Papa until you were certain of completing the program,” Riza finished for him.

“Yeah.” Slowly, still clutching the damp dish towel in her hand, she drifted over and sank into the chair beside Roy’s.

“I guess…I guess I can understand that,” she said at last.

“I wanted to do something, while I waited. He said I could come back, once he’s doing a bit better, to finish out the remaining time on my contracted apprenticeship,” Roy added.

“But, the military,” Riza murmured. “Isn’t that a bit…permanent? As a career choice?”

“The academy’s not. It’s not a career until you actually graduate. I could drop out, or be kicked out, any time,” he explained.

“Like attending a university,” she mused. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d really like it if…I mean, if you wouldn’t mind...would you write to me?” he asked quietly. “When I’m away?”

“I beg your pardon?” Riza sounded surprised that he’d even asked. Roy flushed and looked away.

“O-only if you want to. I mean, you know, don’t feel like you _have_ to or anything, it’s just that I—,” he stammered, embarrassed. Riza interrupted him.

“Of course I’ll write to you,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “I just…I never considered that you would want me to.” 

“I want you to,” he blurted out. And then, more quietly: “I’ll really miss you.”

“Will you?” she murmured in reply.  

“How can you even ask that?” he admonished, reaching out and lacing their fingers together. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “I can’t believe I’ve only known you a year. It seems like you’ve been here longer than that…but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like you’ve been here very long at all.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he replied, smiling sadly.

* * *

 

**March 18**

After hastily writing a letter to his aunt the following morning (a job which was suddenly incredibly easy now that he had a clear-cut course of action), Roy steeled himself for the more difficult task of breaking the news to his teacher.

He found the man sitting at his desk in the study, idly toying with a lighter and staring into a long-cold cup of tea. The silver lighter flashed between his long, bony fingers, now open, now closed, now lit, and now extinguished. Roy watched, fascinated, from the doorway.

“Yes, child, what is it?” Berthold asked softly, without taking his eyes from his tea cup.

“I…I’ve been corresponding with my aunt,” he lied. He’d written _to her_ , of course, but the letter was still in his notebook. “I’m to return home as soon as possible.”

“I see,” Berthold said, frowning ever so slightly. “I suspected she might feel that way.” Roy flinched at the slight twinge of his conscience. 

“If—if your original offer still stands, sir, then I’d—I’d still like to come back later, to finish off the last few weeks we should have had,” Roy said next. “Would that…be all right?”

“Indeed, yes,” his teacher replied, finally looking up at him. “I shall look forward to it. How soon do you leave?”

“Just a week, sir. Next Monday.”

“Very well. And what will you do with yourself, in the meantime? Besides keep up with your studies, of course?” Roy opened his mouth, prepared to spin the story he’d carefully thought out, all about working part time in the bar with his aunt while he saved his money and studied during the days, but he found he was unable to lie outright to the man he so respected.

“I…thought about enlisting in the military, sir,” he confessed.

“Enlisting?!” Berthold spat, slamming the lighter down on his desk. “Surely you wouldn’t be so _foolish_. Have you any idea what sort of organization you would be joining? No, of course not,” he snarled, without pausing for an answer. “How could you possibly know anything of the deceit and corruption of our _revered_ Fuhrer and his cabinet of puppets? Ignorant child!”

“I-it was just an idea, sir,” Roy mumbled, cowed. “I thought…what with everything that’s been happening lately, it would be nice to know how to defend myself, and my sisters, if it came to that. And-and they have these scholarship programs to help pay for higher education, so I wouldn’t be so dependent on my aunt, and it-I thought it seemed like a good idea.”

Berthold made a jerky movement with is head, and his eyes flashed dangerously. For a moment the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing as he fought to reign in his wrath.

“You’ll see the truth soon enough,” he said finally, in a somewhat calmer tone. “You’ll learn what the world is like soon enough. Would to God that it didn’t have to be the hard way, but perhaps nothing else would truly shatter your illusions.”

“I just want to help people, sensei,” Roy declared quietly. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you angry with me.” Berthold sighed heavily and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

“I fear that you would come to regret your choice, child,” Berthold said slowly. “If this is the path you truly wish to tread, I cannot honestly offer you my blessing. However, I will give you some advice: Keep your eyes open, and follow your instincts. Do not blindly obey, but always be certain that those you follow are deserving of your loyalty.”

“I-I’ll try, sir,” Roy said, as a shiver ran down his spine.

“I pray that you do, my boy,” his teacher said softly. “I’m sure you have preparations to make, travel arrangements and such. You may go, now.”

“Thank you, sensei,” Roy replied humbly. As he turned to leave the room, he heard the soft snick of the lighter being lit again.

* * *

 

**March 19–24**

Over the next few days, Riza outdid herself, laundering and mending various items of Roy’s clothing with a nearly maniacal efficiency, ignoring his protests entirely.

“Really, you shouldn’t be going to all this trouble,” he’d objected, finding her at her sewing machine one morning with a pile of his things beside her. “This is my responsibility, not yours.”

“Please let me help,” she’d finally begged softly, clutching one of his shirts to her chest. “I want to do _something_.” He’d grudgingly allowed her to help out after that, although he’d drawn the line when she’d pulled out the iron. ( _“Riza, I’m just gonna be shoving them all back into my suitcase. They’ll be wrinkled before I even get on the train!”_ )

Most of his packing was finished by the second day. Roy took the opportunity to make the trek into town to purchase his train ticket and mail his letter to Chris. He tried not to think about how irritated she was going to be when he turned up on her doorstep.

Of course, by the time he’d left the post office, word of his one-way ticket purchase had already spread, and he’d spent the rest of the morning saying his goodbyes to his numerous acquaintance in town, explaining over and over that no, Master Hawkeye hadn’t chucked him out, and that yes, he hoped to come back again sometime soon. Perversely, all of their cheery good wishes depressed him, and his mood had only darkened on the long, lonely walk home. Riza had taken one look at his face and promptly left the room, returning with a blanket and a picnic basket. By the time they’d reached the lake, his gloomy feelings had all but dissipated.

They spent their last few afternoons together in much the same way: a lakeside picnic followed by long, aimless walks through the woods, chatting lightly about anything and everything that sprung to mind, except for Roy’s impeding departure. In the evenings, after supper, they’d sprawl on the couch together to listen to the radio or read, as they had done so many nights before. But knowing that it would soon be coming to an end made each of these quiet evenings all the more precious, and Roy irrationally wished they’d never end.

On the morning of his departure, Roy rose before dawn. He packed the last of his personal belongings in silence, and hauled his bags down the stairs as quietly as he could. Knowing that his teacher wouldn’t want to be roused at such an early hour, Roy had said his farewells the evening before. Berthold had responded somewhat absentmindedly, though he had at least mentioned that he would write to Roy as soon as he was able to resume their lessons. Glancing at the clock in the hall, Roy frowned slightly. He’d arranged for Peter Kingsley to give him a lift into town, since he’d be passing by the Hawkeye estate on his usual delivery route. He was due any minute, now, but Roy still had one thing left to do.

As he’d hoped, Riza was waiting for him in the kitchen. Though there wasn’t enough time for a proper breakfast, she’d risen early to make him some bacon sandwiches to eat on the train, and there was a pot of coffee keeping warm on the stove. When he entered the room, she got to her feet soundlessly and poured out a mug for him. Passing it to him, she avoided his eyes and he accepted it from her with subdued thanks. But then they just stood there facing each other in the middle of the kitchen, slightly too close to each other but unwilling to move away. Roy lowered his head slightly in an attempt to meet her downcast eyes.

“Hey,” he said gently, setting his untouched coffee down and reaching for her hand instead. “Don’t look so glum. I’ll be back; you’ll see.”

Slowly, she tilted her face to look up at him. And suddenly Roy realized how close they were actually standing, and how warm her hand was in his, and how soft her lips looked, and how very much he was going to miss seeing her and talking to her every day. Even as he studied her face, wanting to memorize it, Riza’s eyes filled with unshed tears. He definitely didn’t want the last thing he saw to be her crying face.

Impulsively, Roy leaned closer, heart thundering painfully in his chest.

Riza met him halfway.

The kiss was soft, tentative, and a bit on the awkward side due to a lack of prior experience. And it was glorious. When they pulled back, each smiling a little stupidly, Roy stroked a hand tenderly over her cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admitted. Riza ducked her head again, blushing.

“You’ve got terrible timing,” she said, falling back on their usual banter.

“Don’t I know it,” he murmured, leaning forward again to press his lips gently and briefly to hers. “But at least this way your father won’t be able to kill me immediately.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she rejoined, even as she twined her arms around Roy’s neck and let him pull her even more securely against his chest. “He has his ways.” He chuckled, and then they were both silent for a moment.

“Write to me?” Roy breathed into her hair. God, he never wanted to let her go.

“Of course,” she whispered back.

They held each other close until the gentle rap on the door reminded them that Roy had someplace to be, and that his ride had just arrived.

“Goodbye, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy said formally, gently relinquishing his hold on her.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mustang. Have a safe trip,” Riza replied in a steady voice. Her eyes were still suspiciously bright, and Roy had to turn away.

Peter greeted them cheerfully and helped Roy load his bags in the back of his wagon. As they drove slowly away, Roy glanced over his shoulder one last time, and was surprised to see his teacher’s solemn face at one of the upper windows. Berthold raised one hand in silent farewell, which Roy returned just before the road curved and the Hawkeye estate was hidden from view.

“It’s not forever,” he told himself as his throat closed. “I’ll come back. Soon.”


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author attempts to be clever by using a simple skip code and fails miserably.  
> Also, a final scene between the two original co-conspirators, set two years later.

**Epilogue**

The morning after Roy’s return home to Central City, the following ad was placed in the personal sections of all the periodicals that circulated in Eastern City:

_“My secret beloved Roy, our love has faded away; returned to the home we once unexpectedly shared together. Don’t blame yourself; panic not for your now former girl. Please stay safe and happy. Explain my absence in whichever way more sympathy or secured regard brings. Messages are futile._

_Ms. Gaunt”*_

* * *

 

**Two years later**

News of his son-in-law’s death did not reach Major General Grumman until several weeks after the fact. Infuriated by the oversight, he would’ve liked to be able to simply drop everything and rush out of town citing a family emergency. But that would draw more attention than he wanted and raise questions he wasn’t ready to answer. A cryptic letter from Madame a few days later only inflamed his agitation, and had him adding a leg onto his trip. Quietly, he arranged a few days of leave, taking the time to clear up the urgent matters on his desk and eliminate the weak links in his intelligence network.

He wasn’t really surprised to find that everything had been taken care of long before his arrival. His granddaughter was growing into a fine, responsible young woman, after all. Finally meeting the girl face to face, and talking to her, brought him such an unexpected rush of pleasure that Grumman had a hard time walking away without simply spilling everything and asking her to come home with him. But her best interests had to remain his top priority, and so instead he found himself advising her to seek a career in the military. Once he’d boarded the train to Central, leaving his granddaughter behind, he had plenty of time to question his decision and run through all of the possible outcomes.

By the time he arrived at Madame’s, Grumman was bone weary. Chris spotted him across the room and gave the willowy blonde bartender a nearly imperceptible signal. Juliet, he thought she was called, slipped into Chris’s office as Grumman settled at his usual place at the bar.

“It’s very good to see your face, my friend,” Chris said, smiling. Juliet reappeared with an unopened bottle of a very expensive brand of scotch, which she set in front of her boss as she passed.

“Well, it’s lucky I had some leave time coming up,” Grumman replied with a tight smile. “Your message was rather cryptic, even by our usual standards.”

“Yes, I know. There’s been a development I thought you might be interested in,” she replied with an amused lilt to her sultry voice. Playing along, Grumman grinned.

“Don’t tell me...your nephew, having fallen head over heels in love with my granddaughter, has finally decided that he’s through pining from afar, swept her off her feet, and now they’re eloping?”

Chris’s laughter was low and musical, and more than one of her patrons turned to look at her in surprise. She very rarely exuded such delighted energy.

“Oh, that _would_ be quite the development,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Don’t let’s dismiss the possibility entirely, hm? But no, that wasn’t it.”

“Damn,” he sighed. “Ah well, an old man can dream. I missed so much of my Tereza’s life. I’d hoped I’d live to see her daughter marry and have children one day, at least. All right then. What was it that you needed to tell me?”

“Mm, it’s not wholly unrelated, as it happens. You remember when I told you that my boy wanted to sign himself up at the Academy after he left your son-in-law’s tutelage?” Grumman nodded. “Well, he graduated just a few months ago, and he’s accepted his commission.”

“Well, now, that’s a surprise,” Grumman said. He leaned an elbow on the bar and regarded Chris with genuine interest. He’d always assumed the boy would tire of playing solider after some time at the academy and find himself another alchemy tutor until he was ready to set up his own private practice. “I thought he had his heart set on being an alchemist?”

“He still does,” Chris replied.

“Oho. So he’s going to sign up for the State Alchemist Exam, then? My, my,” Grumman breathed.

“I didn’t want to say anything sooner in case he didn’t make it...but he’s actually already  _passed_  the exam,” she replied with a smug little smile. The old man inhaled sharply.

“That’s—well, that’s quite an accomplishment, my dear,” he said in a slightly strained voice, mind racing. How on earth had the boy progressed so quickly without a tutor? “You must be very proud. Tell me, have they assigned his title yet?”

“He’ll be known as the Flame Alchemist,” she replied softly. Their eyes met and held.

“I see,” he said softly.

“I thought you might,” she rejoined. Grumman frowned.

“Although, I must confess I still don’t understand  _how_...when he left, Berthold still hadn’t taught him any…” he began. And then the penny dropped. “My granddaughter. You think she helped him, somehow. Is that it?” Chris just smiled.

“The brat hasn’t given me all the details, but I’m certain she was involved.”

“She doesn’t know any alchemy, I’m quite sure of that,” Grumman said, still frowning. “So I can’t imagine _how_ …”

“Even if she doesn’t know alchemy herself, she’s the only person with any insight into the inner workings of that man’s mind.”

“Of course…She’d know exactly where to look, which books and notes he used, and possibly even which codes he employed to conceal his progress. Yes, yes, that would make sense,” Grumman mused.

“On top of that, she’d know exactly who she could trust with the information, among the various students that passed through her father’s hands over the years,” Chris added, clearly having thought about this a great deal herself. Grumman raised his eyebrows.

“You know, I think it’s high time I made the acquaintance of your charming nephew, my dear,” Grumman said at last.

“I agree. Keep an eye out for him, won’t you?” she said lightly. Though she’d basically just told him that her nephew was a valuable resource that he might want to cultivate, the request to look after her nephew was equally implicit.

“Of course. A favor I’m happy to undertake for an old friend,” Grumman said, patting her hand. She relaxed a fraction and then fixed those dark eyes on his.

“And have you seen the girl, since her father…?” A shadow passed over Grumman’s eyes.

“Briefly, though I didn’t tell her who I was. I don’t want to force myself on her, you understand. She’s such an independent little creature.” And making demands and ultimatums had certainly never worked with his daughter. He was determined not to let the past repeat itself, if he could possibly prevent it.

“I see,” Chris said softly. “So what did you tell her?”

“Did you know the girl’s a sharpshooter?” Grumman asked, seeming to ignore the question. “I stumbled across her targets while I was reconnoitering at the house.”

“You’re kidding. I wonder whether Roy knew; he never mentioned it. She any good?”

“She’s a damn prodigy, Chris. You should have seen those targets; she’d be a rare asset in her own right. I just might have one of my progeny follow in my footsteps after all.”

“Isn’t she a bit young to join up, yet?”

“Only by a bit. She could enlist right this minute with the right forms signed, but I’d rather she waited until her eighteenth birthday at least.”

“You offered her a plan for her future, then,” Chris realized. “How’d she take it?”

“I honestly don’t know. Your boy wasn’t kidding about her being tough to read,” he sighed. “She’d make a beautiful sniper, though, with that kind of stillness and focus. She did say that she’d think about it.”

“What will you do when she joins?”

“You think she will?” he asked, surprised.

“I’d be willing to bet on it,” Chris replied calmly. “I think she lacks a purpose in her life, now that she doesn’t have anyone to look after. She’ll want to be doing _something_ , looking after someone or being useful in some quantifiable way. It’s a part of who she is.”

“If she doesn’t join the armed forces, though, her varied education would certainly qualify her for teaching. That might be a good outlet for such a nurturing nature, no?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Chris mused. “She’s not the type to be happy as a private tutor to a bunch of snot nosed brats, in my opinion.”

“How on earth can you tell, Chris?” Grumman demanded.

“Oh, I’ve simply come across her kind before. Rare breed, that: observant, intuitive, smart, quiet, capable of great devotion. Look at her father—she practically lived for the man, little as he did to deserve it,” Chris said. “That girl did everything in her power to make his life more comfortable, cooking, cleaning, protecting him from things she thought he didn’t need to know to ensure their livelihood...she doesn’t trust easily, that’s clear. But as soon as she does, it’s for life. She gets set up under the right CO, she’ll be his most valuable asset—true as steel and loyal to a fault. She’s the sort of woman I'd like watching  _my_ back, anyway,” she added slyly, glancing across at her friend.

“Now that **_is_** saying something,” the older man replied softly.

“It really is too bad she wouldn’t think much of my kind of work,” Chris sighed. “She’d be too honest to really enjoy all the subterfuge. But I still think she’d be a good woman to have in one’s corner,” she added. A slow smile spread across Grumman’s face, and Chris smirked in return.

“Well. We’ll just have to see what happens, in these next few months, won’t we?” Grumman said, steepling his fingers together.

“I look forward to it, old man.”

 

 

*Skip code - first word, then every third word. Also, Ms. Gaunt is an anagram of Mustang.


	15. Bonus Scene - Before the Transfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grumman finally spills the beans, has a LONG overdue heart-to-heart with his granddaughter, and amuses himself at the expense of his protege.

Lieutenant Hawkeye sat in stunned silence, with letters spilled all across her lap, eagerly devouring the words of a boy she’d once known.

“How did you come to _have_ these, sir?” she asked softly, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. Her grandfather smiled at her from the other side of his desk.

“They were only written because of me, you know,” was all he said. She was used to his riddles by now, but familiarity didn’t make them any less annoying. At her raised eyebrow, he only smirked. So she tried a new tack.

“If anyone else had seen these, sir, all _three_ of us might have been compromised.”

 Grumman waved a hand at her, dismissive.

“Your parentage is a matter of public record, my dear, even if it isn’t exactly _common_ knowledge. My offspring, her marriage, her husband’s occupation, your colonel’s schooling—none of it is exactly _classified_ information, is it? Anyone might have figured it out by looking up the right records, or by bribing the right officials.”

As Madame had, all those years ago.

“Well, still,” Hawkeye murmured, her eyes still skimming over the letters.

“Oh, those letters only flesh out the human components of the story. There wasn’t anything that could truly be used against any one of us, and so I never could bring myself to destroy them.”

With a helpless little gesture, Riza suddenly dropped the letter she’d been reading into her lap with the others. Her shoulders slumped a little, and her eyes took on an intensely sad expression.

“I suppose you're right. But all laid out like this...it brings back a lot of things I’d rather it didn’t,” she admitted.

“Should I have come for you after all?” her grandfather asked softly. Riza raised those wide brown eyes to his, silently questioning. Grumman shifted awkwardly in his chair. “I…I honestly tried to do what I thought was best for you,” he continued. “It’s why I arranged for all this in the first place,” he nodded at the stack of letters littering her lap and his desk.

“Arranged for what, exactly?”

“For the letters.”

Lieutenant Hawkeye looked puzzled for another moment, but her expression cleared as realization dawned.

“Madame Christmas. Of course,” she said quietly. She ought to have guessed the moment she learned that the two of them were acquainted. Her grandfather smiled, albeit a little sadly.

“Yes.” Grumman sighed. “I had to know, you see. I had to be certain...and as I read them, it became clear that you were at least cared for. Relatively happy. I could see that he protected you, insofar as he was able.”

“He did,” Hawkeye agreed, with a faraway look in her eyes.

“I could see that in his quiet way, he loved you fiercely, and you were devoted to him in return. I couldn’t bear to be the one to pull you away from all that you’d known,” he explained.  “I—I didn't want you to resent me, I suppose. And of course, there were also your father’s wishes to contend with.”

“You might have visited,” she suggested, voicing at last something that had troubled her for years. “Did you think he wouldn't allow you to see me?”

“I didn’t just think so, my dear, I knew it for a fact. Berthold Hawkeye would not willingly suffer my presence in his home. And not without reason. Although it pains me to admit this, when your parents married, I was…very angry,” he sighed. “Tereza was so young, and so bright, and your father seemed such a cold and hard man.” He was silent for a moment, lost in a memory.

“You believed they were ill suited for each other?” Hawkeye prompted.

“I was so sure she’d regret her choice if she went through with it, Grumman said. “So, I refused to give them my blessing. Naturally enough, they eloped instead. Harsh words were exchanged, most of them mine. I said some rather cruel, unforgivable things to her. To both of them.”

“But my mother—she forgave you, didn’t she?” Hawkeye asked softly.

“After a time, yes,” Grumman sighed. “Although she and I eventually re-established written contact, I still didn’t visit her. I couldn’t visit her. I wasn’t welcome in her husband’s home. Her husband—your _father_ …he never quite forgave me for the things I’d said. For the way I’d acted. And when she got sick, and I offered money to help with her medical expenses, they refused it. Sent it back, in fact.”

“She kept a picture of the two of you, in her parlor,” Hawkeye said, after a moment. “Father never said a word about it, but after she had died, it vanished. I found it later, hidden away with some of her other things.”

“She had a photo of me?” the old general repeated hopefully.

“Yes. It’s a formal portrait of both of you, from when she was a young girl. She’s sitting on your knee, and it looks as though you’re both laughing.”

Hawkeye still had that photo, tucked safely away with her most important papers.

“Ah. I remember that portrait,” Grumman half-whispered. “I thought she’d destroyed it when she left. I found shards of glass from the broken frame, afterwards.”

“She didn’t,” Hawkeye said simply.

“If you remembered the photo,” Grumman said slowly. “Then - did you recognize me, that first day I came to meet you?” Hawkeye’s lips curved into a smile, and the old man saw a flicker of his own cunning reflected in her features.

“I did, yes,” she replied. There was a sudden humorous lilt to her voice, a bright and golden sound that sounded so much like his late daughter that tears welled up in Grumman’s eyes.

“And you let me ramble on like an old fool about having known your parents, and offering you my assistance and all that, without ever letting on that you knew who I was and why I’d come?” he asked, aghast.

“I figured you had your reasons,” she said, shrugging. “And I wanted to see what you’d do. I wasn’t planning to claim a relationship if it was one that you’d never wanted. I knew things were tense between you and my father, but I didn’t know why. Or—or whether I was the cause of that tension somehow.”

“Never,” he said sharply. “You had _nothing_ to do with it. If anything, your birth was the reason Terri and I started communicating again, even if our relationship never _fully_ recovered. A man wants grandchildren. Offspring to carry on his legacy, you know.”

“Well, I can’t exactly carry on the family name,” she said, chuckling softly.

“Your name doesn’t make a lick of difference,” Grumman argued, shaking his head firmly. “I was so pleased when you enrolled at the Academy. Your mother used to tell me she was going to be a solider, when she was a child. She wanted to be like me, and my father, and her mother’s father. You come from a long line of military men, my dear. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You did, the day we met. And I hoped you’d take that into account when you saw my name cross your desk. I thought you must have signed the permission yourself, when the recruiter wrote me back and told me to report to the Academy for the fall semester.”

“Actually, I just forged your father’s signature and changed the date,” he admitted. “No one would think to check his date of death, but it was a simple precaution in case anyone got curious. A maternal grandfather wasn’t considered close enough kin to sign those papers,” he grinned at her as she laughed softly.

“No wonder Colonel Mustang always loses when you play chess. You were always three steps ahead of me, weren’t you?”

“In some things, perhaps,” Grumman grinned briefly, and then grew serious again. “I hope I don’t have to tell you this, but I never used undue influence to push you forward. You climbed the ranks all on your own, based entirely on merit.”

“The thought had occurred, once or twice,” Hawkeye admitted, ducking her head slightly. “For example, the single room at the Academy dorm was rather convenient.”

“Ah. Yes, well, a student with night terrors _is_ best off on her own. Prevents her from disturbing any of the other students, you see.”

“But I don’t have night terrors, sir,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“And how would they have been able to confirm that?” he countered, winking at her.

“And the early transfer to the front lines of Ishval?” she asked in a too-light tone. Grumman shuddered slightly, his face taking on an ashen hue.

“No. That was done entirely against my wishes,” he replied in a low, grave voice. “I was furious when I found out. Bad enough that your talents meant you’d be sent straight into the thick of things, but to go before you’d even completed two years of training? I never would have wanted that.” Hawkeye’s shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit, and Grumman wondered how long she’d harbored that suspicion.

“I doubt another year would have made much of a difference,” she said softly. “You’re never really prepared for something like that, no matter the training.”

“Quite true,” he replied. “I often wonder whether I should have stuck to my original plan. Simply taken you in myself, and married you off to some bright young thing with a prestigious career ahead of him, instead of letting you enlist. I regret not protecting you better.”

“You aren’t the only one,” she admitted, remembering the look on Mustang’s face when they’d met again on the battlefield. “But if it’s any comfort to you, I would have joined up anyway, with or without your help. I was determined by then. I’d already planned to try again under an assumed name if you didn’t pull the right strings for me.”

“That defiant streak, just like your mother,” Grumman chuckled.

“I can’t swear I wouldn’t do things differently, knowing what I know now. But back then? I made the choice on my own, and I was determined to see it through.”

A knock at the door made them look up with identically wary expressions, which relaxed into identically indulgent smiles when the visitor poked his head in the room.

“I hope I haven’t interrupted? What state secret are you two discussing?” Colonel Mustang asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh, nothing like that. We were just chatting about my first love,” Hawkeye said, gathering the bundle of letters in her hand and standing up. Mustang looked like he’d been doused with cold water.

“Y-your first—?” A bewildered Mustang stammered, but Hawkeye smoothly interrupted him.

“I’d better leave you two to your conversation. Thank you again for lending these to me, sir,” she said, gathering the letters. Mustang eyed them suspiciously as Grumman replied.

“I wanted you to know about them before you left. You may keep them, if you wish,” he added with his foxy grin. “In light of the subject matter, they’re sure to hold your interest as long as they’ve held mine.”

“Thank you, sir, I’d like that very much,” she replied with a matching grin. Catching sight of the handwriting on one of the envelopes, Mustang’s eyes grew wide.

“Are…are those—?” he started to ask, hesitantly.

“Goodnight, sirs,” Hawkeye said with a jaunty salute. She turned on her heel and left the two men alone in General Grumman’s office. Colonel Mustang stood looking after her with such a pitiful mix of jealousy and desire on his face that his superior burst into an unmanly giggle.

“Well?” Grumman demanded when the colonel whipped his head back around to glare at him. “What are you doing just standing there, young man? Aren’t you going to go after her?”

“But…what about our meeting—?” Mustang said uncertainly.

“We’ll talk in the morning, say oh eight hundred hours.  Now go on; you’d better hurry if you want to catch up to her,” he advised.  Suiting the action to the word, Mustang darted from the room before Grumman had even finished his sentence.

Grumman’s guffaw could be heard from the outer hall, but Roy didn’t care. The smile on Riza’s face was worth it.

Because of course she was waiting for him just outside the door. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and attempted to fall back on his normal professionalism as he fell into step beside her.

“Lieutenant.”

“Colonel,” she murmured, clearly amused.

“I, erm. Those letters,” he stuttered, eyes flicking from her face to the bundle of letters in her hand.

“Yes, sir? What about them?” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Are…are those…oh, for pity’s sake, just tell me!” he cried, his control snapping.

“Tell you what, sir?” she pressed, raising her eyebrow. “Whether or not these are letters written by a young man to his family, detailing his experiences as a boarding pupil of a famous alchemist? Letters that his aunt requested he send on a weekly basis for the sake of his sisters? Letters which she _actually_ commissioned from her nephew at the behest of the alchemist’s father-in-law? Letters which were meant to help that man determine the state of his granddaughter’s happiness and well-being from the perspective of a neutral third party that they all could trust?”

“His grand—but then how’d he…wait, so that means…huh,” Roy muttered bemusedly. His eyes clouded over as he ran through the implications in his mind. “That sly old dog,” he finally added. “So they sent me in as a spy?” he added indignantly. Hawkeye bit her lip to hide her smile.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know either until just a few moments ago.”

“And you—you’ve read those letters?” he asked, eyeing her nervously. Though he was confident he hadn’t said anything that might upset her, he couldn’t remember how much of his infatuation had shown through in his writing.

“Oh yes,” Hawkeye said. “Very educational.”

“Educational?” Mustang repeated in a strangled voice.

“Mm. Apparently I need to smile more often,” she said nonchalantly. “I have it on good authority that I’m much prettier when I smile. Although, that was near ten years ago, now. Perhaps the original author would wish to retract that assessment?” she mused. Mustang’s eyes softened.

“Oh, no. I’m sure he’d agree that time has only improved the effect,” he said huskily.

“Well, I always knew he had a charming streak a mile wide,” she retorted. Mustang stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. Hawkeye took a few more steps, and then stopped as well and looked back at him in confusion. “Sir?” she asked, worried. Had she taken the teasing too far?

“That sonofa—all this time!” Mustang cried. “He knew that you knew! So if he’s read all the letters, then he knows how close we became, and he had to know you’d tell me once you figured out who he really was, and we’ve been under his command for years now, and all this time he’s known that I know without knowing that he knows that I know!” he growled out, growing increasingly agitated with each sentence. Hawkeye had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face.

“Sir, I’m not sure if I follow,” she replied calmly. He glared at her and then realized that he was drawing unwanted attention from the other people still straggling out of Eastern Command. In two long strides, he was at her side again, grumbling mostly under his breath.

“He’s been watching me squirm this whole time. All that stuff about his granddaughter, knowing that I had to know who he was really talking about,” he muttered. “No wonder he and Madame get on so well, they’re two peas in a damn pod.”

“And here I thought that’s why the two of _you_ got along so well,” Hawkeye murmured in amusement.

“Oh god,” Mustang gasped. “There—he didn’t have copies of their replies, did he?”

“Replies?” Hawkeye repeated.

“The letters. The ones the girls sent me in reply whenever I wrote them,” Mustang said, looking half-panicked. “Did he see any of those? Did he give you any copies of those? I mean, I assumed the originals only went to me, but then again, I had no idea they were sending my letters on to someone else, and—”

“Sir, take a breath,” Hawkeye admonished him. “The only letters the general mentioned or showed to me were the ones that you wrote to your family. Madame forwarded them along when the girls had finished reading them. That’s all I know.”

“Oh, thank god,” Mustang whispered.

“Looks like I might need to pay Lucy a visit,” Hawkeye said lightly. “Apparently I’m missing something _very_ interesting.”

“You wouldn’t!” Mustang cried. “Lieutenant?”

Hawkeye just smiled and kept walking, leaving her mortified superior officer stammering behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> Several of my readers over on ff.net have been asking me why I didn't have an account here, and...now I do! I am planning to post several of my old works here over the next few weeks/months, so if it feels like you've read some of these stories of mine before...then you probably have ;)


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